Blade's brother
by Mirien
Summary: A story somewhere between book and film-about Elves, Men and White Knives
1. Chapter 1 A Strange Foreboding

__

Blade's Brother…….

DISCLAIMER : Nope, don't own a thing, it's all the Professor's! 

AUTHOR'S NOTE : This is going to be a long one…..just so's you know.

__

Chapter 1 - A Strange Foreboding

Darkness covered Imladris. Stars, silver points of fire, shimmered in the clear sky and the air was cool and still with the promise of dawn. The trees stood silent, not a breath of wind stirring the new growth of spring leaves which clothed the valley in a living mantle of soft green. In the house itself - home of Elrond Half-Elven - all was quiet.

In a room overlooking the gardens on the east side, a single lamp glowed, casting a golden wash over the lawn below. Every so often a figure passed the arched window opening, momentarily blocking the light, occasionally pausing to glance out as though searching for something, scanning the gardens and the paths leading out of the valley. Seeing nothing, the figure let out a short breath and turned from the window. A small fire burned in the pre-dawn chill, its glow adding to the soft light cast by the lamp placed on a small writing desk. A sword scabbard and bow sat propped against a chair, with the sword itself, blade gleaming a soft gold in the firelight, lying on the neatly made bed next to a pot of oil and a sharpening stone. 

The familiar task of cleaning the blade, begun some time ago, usually brought solace from concerns and worries. Caring for the weapon brought calmness and perspective to the young warrior who was its owner, but this night it had brought no comfort and had been abandoned in favour of a restless pacing. 

Now he returned to the fireplace, placing another log on the small blaze and staring into the flames with worried grey eyes. 

"Legolas, _mellon nín,_ where are you?" 

It had been three months since his friend had left for a visit home. Once full of light and life, Greenwood the Great was now a dark place, populated by giant spiders and strange creatures so that Mirkwood seemed a fitting name. The area kept free of shadow by the elves of Thranduil's realm remained fair still, but Legolas held a deep connection with the land, deeper even than most of his kind, and the growing darkness in the rest of the forest had saddened him deeply. It was for this reason and because of Legolas's growing rift with his father, that the Prince had been persuaded to leave his home. He dwelt now in Imladris, returning to Mirkwood only rarely, to see his mother and fulfil those duties Thranduil saw fit to impose on his son.

Aragorn knew how much the growing distance between the Elven King and his heir grieved his friend. Legolas adored and respected his father, but as the darkness grew, Thranduil retreated into his own realm, guarding its borders and making no attempt to halt the rest of the forest's slow descent into darkness. Aragorn knew Legolas had questioned his father about this, about how it seemed that some paralysis held Thranduil in its thrall, preventing him from reacting.

"He will not tell me," he had told Aragorn in frustration on one occasion. "When I asked for his leave to aid the White Council at Dol Guldur, he forbade me to go, saying it was my place as his heir to keep myself safe." Legolas had grimaced, " It is as though he would place me in a fur-lined box! It was my mother who persuaded him, though he gave his permission reluctantly. and in the end, had it not been for the intervention of Mithrandir, I believe he would not have given his consent even then." He paused again, frowning, "Yet even my mother cannot," he paused and shook his blond head, correcting himself, "… _will _not, tell me why my father acts so strangely." Legolas now looked at Aragorn, and the ranger could see confusion and a centuries old frustration in his friend's eyes, "Whenever I ask, she will say only that there is something in my father's past of which he will not speak, which drives him to try to keep those he loves from harm and it is that also which makes him turn a blind eye to the evils around him."

Legolas had said no more and they had not discussed it again, and when the Sindarin Elf returned from his rare visits home with a grim expression and shadows in his blue eyes, Aragorn offered silent understanding. 

Now Legolas was overdue. He had received a message from Tathar, his friend and weapons teacher and had left Imladris saying he would return in a month. Aragorn had offered to delay his trip with the Rangers to accompany his friend, but Legolas had shaken his head, saying with a smile that he would return soon, probably before Aragorn and his brothers returned from their own travels.

Yet when Aragorn had returned, several weeks ago, there had been no word from Legolas. Elrond had sent messengers to Mirkwood, but there had been no reply. Something was badly wrong, Aragorn could feel it. It iced his blood and left him restless, unable to find sleep.

He sighed and his frown deepened. The sun had risen as he fretted about Legolas's whereabouts and the air was bright and fresh. Turning from the window, Aragorn left his rooms and padded through the quiet corridors to the hall where he knew there would be breakfast laid on the long tables.

Entering the huge vaulted chamber, he saw his brothers, seated in a corner, their dark heads bent together in conversation. At his approach, they both looked up.

"_Suilad, _Estel_,"_ Elladan smiled at him.

Elrohir made room for Aragorn, slanting a look at the ranger, "Has there been any word?"

Aragorn shook his dark head, not wishing to voice his concerns,Elladan reached behind his twin to lay a gentle hand on his brother's arm. "Legolas can defend himself, Estel," he said quietly. He meant his smile to be reassuring, but it didn't reach the Elf's eyes.

"We will go to Mirkwood," Elrohir ventured, "Perhaps he……."

"My sons," a quiet voice made them all look up.

Elrond stood by the table, a parchment in his hand. Wordlessly, they rose and followed the Lord of Imladris from the room to a private hall. 

Closing the door, Elrond turned to them. A cold dread gripped Aragorn at his expression and he faltered, "_Ada?_"

Elrond looked at each of his sons in turn, his gaze coming to rest on Aragorn and he spoke in a voice which seemed to come from far away.

"Lînivren is dead."

Aragorn felt himself reel in shock, dimly aware of the stunned gasps of the other two. Expecting to hear of Legolas having been grievously hurt…..or worse, still he had not expected this. 

Lînivren, Thranduil's beloved Queen, was as much beloved of the Elves of Imladris as she was of the Silvan Elves of Mirkwood. Born in Doriath, she had later travelled to Lindon and there had met Elrond. She and Elrond and Elros, Elrond's brother, had become close and when Elros had chosen the gift of Men, Elrond and Lînivren had grieved together. In Lindon also, Lînivren had met Thranduil and had eventually left to wed him, but she and Elrond had remained closer than most siblings.

Aragorn now looked to his father, and saw that Elrond stood motionless, as though speaking the words aloud had finally made the shattering news he had given his sons reality. With a murmur of comfort echoed by his brothers, Aragorn returned the solace the Elf-Lord had so often given him as a child, gently closing his arms about his father. Elrond did not move, but in his stillness, Aragorn perceived a terrible grief, all the more keen for the fact that the Elf-Lord did not give voice to it. 

Beside him, Elladan and Elrohir too stood as if all breath had left them, struggling to comprehend the loss of one who had been so beautiful and so beloved. They grieved too for Legolas who had been so close to her, her only child; for Thranduil, who had worshipped the very air she breathed, and for Elrond, for the Elf-Lord's loss of a soul-sister and for the death of one of the Firstborn, the death of one not born to die. In the small chamber, flooded with the brightness of the morning, their grief enclosed them in black despair, making the bright morning air tremble with sorrow.

Through his own grief, Aragorn dazedly recalled the first time he had seen Legolas's mother. It had been in the gardens at Imladris, when she and Thranduil had joined their son for a visit. She had worn a green gown which seemed made of leaves, layered one on another and edged in gold so that she shimmered in the light of the sun. Her golden hair had been bound with a intricately wrought coronet and her blue eyes, the exact shade as her son's, were like the blue of a wind-tossed lake, deep and fathomless. He had been utterly entranced, wondering if, even among the Elves, there could be another so fair.

He had stared at her, unable to help himself, unable to move or breathe, "_M…Mae govannen _Lady," he had managed at last, as those around him shared quietly amused smiles. It was an effect Lînivren often had, even on Elves, immortal, and used to things of beauty. On a young man of barely seventeen, the effect was devastating.

Her smile was warm, "_Mae govannen, _Estel_."_

Remembering himself just in time, Aragorn stepped with Elrond and his brothers to greet the others in the Mirkwood party. He was dimly aware of Legolas, grinning at his friend's stunned expression. 

On another occasion, Aragorn had been in Mirkwood, having accompanied Legolas on one of his visits home. At the borders of the Elven lands, Legolas had suddenly halted, holding up a slender hand. Aragorn had moved his horse closer, thinking Legolas had sensed some threat.

Legolas had sat motionless, his expression was intent, golden head tilted a little to one side, as if he listened for something the Human could not hear. 

Then he smiled, jumping lightly down from his horse as green and brown clad figures materialized out of the trees. Legolas greeted them all joyously, then one of the slender figures detached itself from the others. A green hood of softest wool covered the face of the Elf, but as the warrior approached, the hood fell back, revealing the same features which had bewitched Aragorn the first time he had seen her, the laughing blue eyes, the bright hair, braided now in the fashion of a warrior. Lînivren had embraced Legolas, crying out, "_Mae govannen, _my son!"

When the two Elves broke apart, they had smilingly approached Aragorn, who stood with the rest of the hunters, most of whom he knew fairly well by now. Lînivren's arm was looped over her son's shoulders. She had lightly embraced Aragorn, "_Suilad, _Estel_!_ It is good to see you!"

Aragorn was once again utterly entranced, for few Elves, outside his own family and Legolas, were given to embracing Humans.

Thranduil's Queen was dressed identically to the rest of the party, in a tunic of soft brown leather and leggings which allowed for ease of movement, a bow clasped in a hand which held the weapon as if it knew well how to use it. And such proved to be true. On their way back to Thranduil's caverns, Legolas and Aragorn had become involved in the hunt which they had inadvertently run into and Aragorn saw that Lînivren was clearly the designated tracker of the group and easily the most skilled. She directed them unerringly to their quarry, and it was her arrow which brought the stag down, finding its heart with deadly and merciful accuracy so that the animal had no time to register its fate before it fell dead to the forest floor. 

And her voice, as she knelt and murmured the words of thanks and respect to the spirit of the stag , was like all the Elvish songs he had ever heard and again Aragorn had thought that there could be no Elf-woman on Middle-Earth that was the match of this Queen, for such would have to be the spirit of Lúthien reborn.

Aragorn pulled himself with an effort from the bittersweet memories as a nagging fear pushed insistently through his thoughts. He stepped back, "_Ada?_" Waiting until Elrond looked up, he questioned softly, "What of Legolas?" The young Human dreaded to think of his friend's grief. 

Elrond retrieved the parchment and scanned it once more, searching for news of the Elven Prince. He looked up at Aragorn before calling out, "Erestor?"

When Elrond's chief councillor appeared at the door, Aragorn could see that the news had somehow already spread throughout Imladris. Quickly, Elrond asked, "Is there any word of Legolas? Where is the messenger?"

"I will fetch him," Erestor responded. Within moments, the messenger from Mirkwood was ushered into the room and Aragorn saw that it was Tathar, Legolas's friend and teacher.

The Silvan Elf's shoulders were slumped and the normally sparkling eyes were dull. Even Tathar's bright golden hair seemed to lie lank and lifeless on his brown tunic. But he bowed respectfully to Elrond and waited for the Lord of Imladris to speak; Aragorn saw on his face the dread of what he knew they would ask, a fear which the son of Thranduil's chief advisor fought hard to control.

Elrond placed gentle hands momentarily on the younger Elf's shoulders and Aragorn could sense that even through his own sorrow, his father extended his healing gift to touch the heart of the warrior. He bowed his head, saying formally, "My sorrow for the loss of your Queen …. she was dear to us also."

Tathar visibly fought renewed tears, "Thankyou_, _my lord," he managed at last.

Elrond tightened his grasp on Tathar's shoulder in wordless comfort before questioning gently, "And what of Legolas? How fares your Prince and the King?"

For the space of several moments, Tathar did not move. Then he raised reluctant eyes to meet those of the Elf-Lord, saying in a whisper, "I do not know, my Lord….. He has gone, but we do not know where. He…he left after the King…." the younger Elf stopped, and they tensed instinctively against his next words. 

Panic flared in Aragorn and he stepped forward, "After he what?" he demanded of Legolas's friend in a voice harsher than he had intended. 

The Silvan Elf was clearly exhausted. He murmured something inaudible and Elladan and Aragorn caught the young warrior as he swayed unsteadily.

When Tathar had been placed on a bed in one of the guest rooms to rest, Elrond seated himself by the bed and looked up at his three sons. 

"Leave us for a while," he commanded softly, "You also, Estel." Elrond forestalled Aragorn's instinctive protest, understanding and sympathising with his son's need to find out what had happened to Legolas.

Elladan put a gentle but firm arm around his younger brother's reluctant shoulders and after a brief moment of resistance, Aragorn allowed himself to be led away. The last view he had of the scene by the bed was of Elrond leaning over Tathar, reaching out with healing senses to discover what he could of the Elf's condition and Legolas's fate.

***

Hours later, Aragorn, having finally succumbed to exhaustion, was dozing in a chair in the Hall of Fire. Elladan was seated across from him, curled into the comfortable depths of another chair, eyes mere slits, watching the glowing embers as he wondered what had happened to the Elf who was both friend and family. Elrohir was perched in the window seat, staring out into the spring night, arms hugging his knees.

The room was dim and they were its only occupants. The Last Homely House had quieted early. Tomorrow they would lament for Lînivren, but for tonight, the Elves of Imladris remembered she whom most had known well and all had loved, with quiet sorrow.

Standing in the doorway, Elrond watched his sons for a moment, seeing how despite his seeming inattention, Elladan glanced often at Aragorn and Elrohir now and then turned his head, troubled eyes watching both his brothers.

Elrond's heart ached for them, and he had to steel himself for what he must now tell them, battling his own disbelief and anger, which in some small measure helped to temper the grief.

Elrohir, half-facing the door, saw him first, lifting his head and turning to look at the silent figure of his father. The movement alerted Elladan and woke Aragorn, whose keen senses picked up the slight movement and sudden tension in the room.

Elrond came forward and seated himself by the dying fire, staring into it for long moments before he spoke. The twins and Aragorn watched him silently.

At last Elrond spoke, not taking his eyes from the fire, "Legolas has gone and none know where. Mirkwood was attacked by orcs, and Legolas led a party out to hunt them. They found the creatures and ambushed them, but three of their party were killed." Elrond paused, "Legolas was the one who found Lînivren," the flames flickered on his drawn face in the dim light, shadowing his eyes, "He brought her home……" 

Elrond looked up but it seemed to Aragorn that his father could not meet his gaze. His sense of foreboding increased, but Elrond was continuing, voice now holding a note of anger, "Thranduil went after him, but none know what passed between them. Tathar could say only that he saw Legolas's face when he emerged from the chamber. He was bleeding from a cut to the lip and his eyes were empty. He left before dawn and none have seen him since in Mirkwood or beyond it. Tathar's warriors have searched in secret, though Thranduil forbade it. He blames Legolas for Lînivren's death and he has not spoken his name since that day."

Elrond fell silent and Aragorn closed his eyes. He had been expecting evil news, but nothing could have prepared any of them for this. His mind struggled to accept even the possibility that Legolas could have been careless with Lînivren's life, that he had failed to prevent her death, capable warrior though she was. Yet he refused to believe it. He was certain of one thing, however it appeared, there was more to this tale than they yet knew, and there was only one who knew the truth of it.

If he still lived.

They sat in silence for long minutes before Aragorn came abruptly to his feet. The others looked up at him, startled.

"I am going to look for him."

Elladan and Elrohir stirred, their intention to accompany their brother obvious, as Elrond looked at his youngest with sympathy, "Estel, there is nothing we can do tonight. Wait till the morning. Legolas has been missing for nigh on three months. One more night will make little difference. And we are all too filled with sorrow tonight. If we find him, I fear Legolas will need all our strength."

None of his sons had missed Elrond's use of "we" and Elrohir now came silently to the fire, standing by his father's chair.

"Do you mean to come with us, _ada?"_

Elrond looked up at the younger twin and nodded his dark head, "I do. Legolas is dear to me also, as is his father. Elrond's gaze was focused on a scene from the past the twins and Aragorn could not see, "Thranduil will not lose a son through his own foolishness," he added softly.

Then Elrond's gaze found Aragorn's and the young ranger heard his father's calm voice in his head……

_We will find him Estel my son, by the Valar I pledge you, we will find him._

***

After he had retired, Elrond walked slowly out onto his balcony. It was very dark, the stars obscured by scudding clouds. He walked to the balcony railing and leaned against it. 

Thranduil, what have you done, gwador?

Legolas's father had always been impulsive. Ungovernable, Thranduil's own father, Oropher, had often called him. Elrond frowned, remembering how the founder of the Woodland Realm had always been so hard on his son, constantly judging Thranduil and finding him wanting.

Small wonder then that when Gil-galad, citing reasons of Alliance, had persuaded a reluctant Oropher to foster his son to Gil-galad's court at Lindon, that the young Sindarin Elf had become so devoted to his Noldor foster-father.

It had been doubtful at first, that Oropher would agree to such an arrangement. Distrustful of the Noldor, it had taken all of Gil-galad's powers of persuasion to convince him that the bond between the two Kingdoms could ultimately benefit both in the likely event of war.

Yet it had not been for reasons of state alone that the High-King of the Noldor had taken the Sindarin Prince into his household. The King had no wife or family, his existence focused on the protection of his people and Elrond was the only one, save perhaps Círdan, who knew the loneliness, the longing which Gil-galad often felt.

When the High-King had met Thranduil, each had recognised in the other a kindred spirit. Despite the differences between their peoples, Gil-galad had seen in Thranduil a lonely young Elf who could not meet the unrealistic expectations of an uncompromising father; and Thranduil had found in 

Gil-galad understanding and the father's love he had always sought.

So Thranduil had moved to Lindon and Elrond had watched as Gil-galad had guided and taught him, so that Thranduil had come to recognise his own worth and had discovered his abilities, in both statecraft and war. Yet he remained impulsive, his passionate nature leading him to utter devotion and loyalty, but also leaving him capable of allowing his emotions to influence his actions more than was sometimes wise. With Thranduil there were no half-measures.

When he had met Lînivren, introduced to her by Elrond, their love had been powerful and immediate. Within a short time, Thranduil had asked for her hand, but she had asked him to wait. Lînivren, as wise as she was beautiful, saw the restless flame that was Thranduil and recognised its potential to scorch as well as to nurture. So he had reluctantly waited and he had learned the value of patience.

But Lîniven was too much in love herself to delay long and she had left Lindon to wed Thranduil, the joy of both almost painful in its intensity. All had rejoiced for them and Gil-galad, delighted for his foster-son, had often teased Thranduil that Lînivren was both his match and a calming influence, with which Thranduil had ruefully agreed.

And thus it had gone on…until Gil-galad had been killed. Elrond shook his head, unwilling to relive the memory. None whom Thranduil ever loved were left in any doubt as to the fact and that only made the risk should tragedy befall, all the more unthinkable. As he knew to his own cost……..

He sighed. It did no good to think on this now. Elrond could well imagine, even without Tathar's news, how Thranduil would react if he thought Legolas had been responsible for Lînivren's death. And until they found Legolas, whom Thranduil loved fully as much as any, he could only speculate on what had transpired between the two. Heart heavy, Elrond turned towards his bedchamber. He could only hope that they found Legolas quickly and that when they did, Thranduil's son would understand why his father had acted as he had.

***

In the grey light of dawn, the three Elves and the ranger mounted their horses. They did not speak, each wrapped in his own thoughts as they made their way out of the valley, letting their horses thread their own way up the steep path onto the lower slopes of the mountains. The sun yet held little warmth and they huddled in cloaks, the hoods up, but not for protection from the chill dawn air, seeking instead comfort against the heartache of the past days in the warm folds.

As they reached a bend in the path, Aragorn, coming last, reined in his horse, some impulse making him turn to look back.

As he stared down at the house nestled in the valley, lights glowing softly in its windows, his attention was caught by something moving along the steep path on the other side of the valley. It was a rider, and it was almost on the level ground near the Ford. He watched, eyes straining in the dawn light, and suddenly, he felt a sudden fierce hope kindle in his heart. Hardly daring to breathe, he was peripherally aware that his father and brothers had returned and were sitting their horses silently, staring into the morning mist.

For several tense moments, all four strained their eyes, then Elvish eyesight penetrated the mists shadowing the paths of the valley. Even as Elrohir shifted and gasped, and Elrond's head came up in shock, Elladan shouted, rising in his saddle, "It is Legolas!"

Aragorn urged his horse to as fast a pace as the Elven stallion could go down the narrow path. The nimble animal sensed its rider's urgency and leapt gracefully down the steep slope, iron-shod hooves striking sparks from rocks as it ran. In only a handful of minutes Aragorn pounding up to the outer courtyard, followed a heartbeat later by the three Elves.

The courtyard was empty, but Aragorn knew where his friend would be. Whatever state Legolas was in, even if he were dying, Aragorn thought with a wry smile, he would see to the care of his horse first. It was so deeply ingrained it was instinct, and unhesitatingly, the ranger headed for Imladris's stables, coming to a dead stop just inside the great arched double doors. Only Elven quickness prevented the three behind from running into him.

Inside the stable was warm and dim, filled with the comfortable, reassuring scents and sounds of horses. Shafts of sunlight streaming from high windows turned dancing dust motes to flickers of gold. 

Quickly, with the same sixth sense which had led him to turn on the path, Aragorn headed for the stall where his own horse was normally housed.

In the large stall, he found Legolas's grey stallion, and, leaning his forehead against the beautiful creature's shoulder, wrapped in several cloaks despite the growing warmth of the morning, stood the Prince himself, his back to the stall opening.

The slender fingers of one hand were tangled in the horse's mane and his forehead rested on the animal's neck. The grey turned at their entrance, but Legolas did not move, even when Aragorn softly called his name. The thought crossed the ranger's mind that it was no coincidence that Legolas had chosen the stall which normally housed Aragorn's mount. He somehow knew that Legolas had instinctively sought the comfort of the place which was connected with Aragorn and his heart went out to his friend.

Coming quietly up beside Legolas, Aragorn could see that his friend's eyes were closed. Only when he carefully touched Legolas's shoulder did the Elf slowly look up, as if raising his head was a great effort Aragorn almost recoiled at the expression in the eyes, Lînivren's eyes, which stared back at him, huge dark blue wells of agony and loss.

"Legolas," Aragorn murmured, as the others hung back a little.

Legolas stared blankly at his friend, frowning a little, as though focusing was difficult. For a moment, a thrill of fear shot through Aragorn and he felt a warning shiver along his nerves, but then recognition returned to Legolas's eyes. 

"Estel?" the normally musical voice was rough, as though it had not been used in a long time. Legolas's arm slipped down from the stallion's neck.

"Yes, Legolas, I am here." Aragorn spoke softly, carefully. There was a fragility and a detachment about Legolas that surprised and alarmed the ranger. He had thought he had been prepared for anything, loss, pain, anger, even fear, and these were all present in Legolas's expression. But there was something else, a transparency which frightened Aragorn.

As Legolas continued to stare at him, he tightened his hand on his friend's shoulder, "Come, _mellon nín_," he encouraged, "Sit here." He tried to lead Legolas to a large pile of hay in one corner of the stall.

But Legolas resisted, hands hidden in the folds of the several cloaks which made his slender form seem unusually bulky. "They are all dead," he murmured. The gaze holding Aragorn's was almost eager, the eyes feverishly bright for a moment before they went dark with lethal coldness, and he said in a flat tone, "All of them."

Aragorn's fears for Legolas's sanity returned, and he turned to look at his father. Elrond nodded slightly, indicating that Aragorn should go on, but otherwise the Elf-Lord did not move, none of them dared. They too could sense something odd about Legolas and of all of them, Aragorn was the one most likely to be able to get through to him, to persuade him to accept their help. Silently, they willed the ranger to persevere, to penetrate the strange haze which surrounded Legolas.

Aragorn was at a loss. Legolas freed a hand from the folds of the cloaks and gripped his arm, whispering, " I could not save her Estel...she…I tried…no time… " Legolas's eyes were bright with tears now, and the blue depths were pleading, desperate, begging the ranger to understand. 

Aragorn's heart swelled with sympathy . Questions filled his mind, but he put them aside, the fear that there was something else besides grief and self-imposed exile wrong with his friend. He tried again, "Legolas…" 

"Estel……." Elladan's voice was soft, warning. Aragorn turned to look over his shoulder and saw that his brother was looking at Legolas's pack. He followed the older twin's gaze; Legolas's pack lay near to the Elf, another cloak partially covering it, but Aragorn now saw that there were blood smears across the decorated leather. He looked to the grey stallion, moving aside the blanket Legolas had evidently covered the tired animal with. The grey coat was soaked in blood.

At the same time, they all became aware of a soft noise, a slight liquid spattering as though rain was gently hitting the window panes, though the sun was now bright outside. As that thought crossed Aragorn's mind, he looked down. Onto the tip of his boot, drops of bright blood were falling. It soaked into the straw and the ranger now saw that a thin stream ran from Legolas's fingertips, concealed by the long cloaks until he had moved, absorbed by the straw piled thickly on the floor. Legolas's other hand, which still gripped Aragorn's arm was also bloody.

At that moment, Legolas swayed against Aragorn and the ranger moved swiftly, catching Legolas as he stumbled against him. Where Legolas's upper chest caught him, the cloak fell partially open leaving bloody smears down Aragorn's tunic. He reached beneath the cloaks, trying to catch the fainting Elf and

a momentary burning cut across his reaching hand. There was a heavy thud as something dropped from the folds of the cloaks and hit the straw-covered floor. Then Elrond was at his side, helping to support Legolas. They carried him to the pile of hay and laid him down on it. Aragorn knelt by his father as the Lord of Imladris quickly pushed back the cloaks covering the younger Elf.

Ugly gashes, some of them deep, criss-crossed Legolas's body, but the injury which appeared the most serious was a gash in Legolas's left thigh. It had narrowly missed the artery and blood was oozing from it sluggishly. 

Aragorn, trying to work out what could possibly have done this, heard someone shouting his name and felt someone shaking him. He looked down, Elrond's hand, covered in blood, Legolas's blood, held his arm in a vice-like grip.

"Estel! Listen to me! Estel!" Aragorn heard a note of command in his father's voice and he instinctively responded to it, looking up into the grey eyes. 

Elladan and Elrohir had gone for help. Elrond held his youngest eyes urgently and Aragorn saw desperate fear in their grey depths.

"Estel, you must help me. These wounds are poisoned and they are not closing. Here," Elrond took Aragorn's hand, where a dull pain still lingered and placed it on the injury on Legolas's thigh. Even through deep unconsciousness, Legolas twisted and groaned in pain at the touch. 

As his injured hand, guided by Elrond's, closed on the wound, his fingers burned momentarily and his head swam, then gradually the burning faded to a faint tingling.

"Estel?" 

Aragorn's dizziness faded and he saw that Elrond had glanced up briefly from the desperate struggle to cast his son a look of concern. He dismissed the tingling and slight disorientation and shook his head, staring at his father urgently. But the look on Elrond's face held no comfort, spoke instead of an awful inevitability .

Legolas was dying.

__

Gwador - Brother (The Sindarin Dictionary states that this is 'especially used of those not brothers by blood, but sworn brothers or associates'.)


	2. Chapter 2 A Chance To Say Farewell

Chapter 2 - A Chance To Say Farewell

Elrond looked away and Aragorn followed the movement of his hands as his father set swiftly to work. Though it was likely hopeless, Elrond was not going to let a patient die without a fight, especially not this patient, one who was so dear to himself and his sons. And one who had been the joy and pride, beloved son, of she whom they had already lost.

Elrond shook his head as he peeled back Legolas's torn garments. How had he sustained this level of injury and survived even this long? In all his centuries of life, the Lord of Imladris had very rarely seen any being this badly injured who still breathed.

_And of those, none did so for long,_ his mind added grimly. 

Resolutely, Elrond pushed the thought aside. Readjusting Aragorn's hands on Legolas's thigh, he looked up as Elladan and Elrohir returned, running, bringing his supplies. Several other Elves also ran in, Glorfindel and Erestor among them, bringing water and soft cloths.

As he caught sight of Legolas's injuries, Glorfindel gasped, "_Elbereth! _What happened?"

Elrond shook his head, not looking up, "I do not know, but if I cannot staunch this bleeding, he will not live to tell us."

Aragorn said nothing, he simply kept his position, holding pressure on Legolas's thigh. _Legolas_…_ do not leave me …. please mellon nín, I need you……_

He lost count of the desperate minutes during which he begged silently. His hands cramped from the effort of keeping them closed over the terrible wound and still Legolas's blood flowed over his hands. He clenched his teeth, bowing his head. 

When he raised it again and looked into Legolas' face, the Elf's skin was pale and waxy. A faint blue tinged his lips and he seemed not to breathe. The blue eyes, faithful mirrors of the Elf's soul, were closed. Aragorn kept his own grey eyes fixed on that face, willing life and colour to return, praying that Legolas would not walk this day in the Halls of Mandos.

At length, he felt a gentle touch on his arm. He had not felt them remove his hands from the wound in Legolas's thigh, his hands and forearms numb from the effort of trying to hold the wound closed and halt the bleeding. The terrible injuries had been bandaged and the awful stream of bright blood seemed to have stopped. Aragorn raised fearful eyes to meet his father's grim gaze as Elrond nodded, confirming Aragorn's thought.

"We have stopped the bleeding. The poison was designed to prevent the wounds from closing, and it had been mixed with another to increase the bleeding as it worked its way deeper, he could not have gone much further. We have cleansed it for now."

"For now?"

Elrond stared down at Legolas, "I do not know how deep it has gone. If we have not found it all, and it reaches his heart…," he said quietly, "Or even if it does not, if any remains, it may yet start the bleeding again." He did not need to finish the sentence, did not need to say that if Legolas lost much more blood it would kill him as surely as it would if it had reached his heart.

"How long before we know?" Aragorn demanded.

.

"I am not sure. I will read him again when we get him upstairs. Elrond turned to Aragorn, holding his son's eyes as he gently explained, "You must understand Estel….We may yet lose him. You know as well as I, Elves can withstand much, but this…."Again, his voice trailed off.

Now that the wounds had been cleaned, Aragorn could properly see his friend's injuries. More gashes originally concealed by all the blood covered Legolas's body and here and there, Aragorn could see the white gleam of a rib. White also gleamed at the Elf's collar bone and at one wrist, and the other appeared to be broken. Legolas's left leg, in addition to the hideous wound, was also broken and the right shoulder was dislocated.

Aragorn watched Elrond as his father finished carefully binding and splinting the cleaned wounds, assisted by Elladan and Glorfindel, while Elrohir handed them salves and bandages. Of all the hideous injuries, it seemed that the dislocated shoulder, seeming one of the lesser hurts, caused the strongest reaction in the his father. Aragorn dared not ask at that moment what had caused Elrond to flinch as he examined it, skilled fingers feeling for internal damage around the joint. He saw him shake his head and saw tears come to the grey eyes, and he wondered at their cause.

*** 

They had finally been able to move Legolas to his room and Aragorn now sat alone by his friend. Night had fallen over Imladris and the silence was broken only by the snapping of the fire in the dim room, and the soft calls of night birds. 

Several lamps glowed, and in their light, Aragorn's face betrayed his weariness and worry in the set of his mouth and in the dark shadows around his eyes. He sat on a stool by Legolas's bedside, watching his friend's face, willing him to live. Elrond still had been able to say with absolute certainty whether the bleeding would restart. Thus far, there had been no sign of that and Aragorn fervently hoped that would continue to be so.

He flexed his fingers, looking down at the wound across his palm. It was still painful and Aragorn frowned. The cut was not serious and it should have stopped bleeding by now, but as he looked at his hand, Aragorn could see that blood was beginning to soak through the hastily applied bandage and there was still a tingling in his hand which was beginning to spread up his arm.

He turned his head as the door opened quietly and Elrond came in. With a brief smile for his youngest, he sat on the edge of the bed and laid his hands either side of Legolas's pale face. He closed his eyes and Aragorn kept absolutely still as Elrond extended his healing senses, assessing Legolas's condition. After a few moments, the Elf sighed and opened eyes.

"There is no change," he said quietly.

Aragorn let out his breath, not sure what he had expected to hear. Since they had brought him up here, Legolas had not moved or stirred. His breathing was shallow and his pulse weak.

"You should rest Estel," Elrond said, turning to look at his son.

As Elrond had known he would, Aragorn shook his head wordlessly, stubbornly refusing to give in to his exhaustion.

Elrond nodded in understanding. Then he frowned suddenly, noting the blood on the bandage covering Aragorn's hand. Wordlessly he took the hand in both of his, and held it up, "How did you get this?"

Aragorn nodded distractedly towards the white-handled knife on the bedside table, "From Legolas's knife. Elrohir bound it up for me after we brought Legolas up here."

Elrond looked to where Aragorn had indicated. The weapon which lay there was truly beautiful. It was a long knife of Elvish make, with a hilt was of a pale, almost white wood, intricately inlaid in gold with complex flowing patterns. In the glow from the lamps, it shone with a pale light and the design etched into the metal shot back gleaming gold.

As he looked at the blade, Aragorn saw Elrond's eyes darken, and for a moment he looked as he had when he had seen Legolas's dislocated shoulder.

"_Ada_? What is it?" 

The Elf looked at him and if anything, his expression was sadder then before. He shook his head. "I will not speak of it now, Estel, for it concerns the past and it concerns Legolas. We may speak of it later."

__

If he wakes.

Aragorn heard the words as though his father had spoken them aloud. He flinched and looked again at Legolas's still form.

"_Ada_, I …aahh!" he winced in pain. 

Elrond had unwrapped the bandage and was probing the wound with gentle fingers. "I do not understand this," he murmured as he examined the still bleeding cut, "It should have…" He stopped and went still. When he spoke, his voice was low, intent.

"Estel, when did the knife cut you? Did you touch any of Legolas's wounds afterwards?"

Aragorn was nodding, "It happened when I reached to steady him. I felt a cut, he must have still been holding it and it caught me across the palm, and then I helped you staunch the wounds." The look on Elrond's face was unreadable and the young ranger asked uncertainly, "Why?"

His father held his eyes, staring at Aragorn intently, before saying quietly, "Your blood and that of Legolas has mingled."

Aragorn stared at his father not understanding the significance and Elrond continued, "I have never spoken of this with you because you and Elladan and Elrohir became brothers anyway and somehow this was never discussed, although I thought when you were younger they might request it," he paused, "It is a custom Elves and Men share, I believe Men call it, 'blood-brotherhood'. "

Comprehension dawned on Aragorn's face and his eyes widened, " I did not realise…"

Elrond smiled, "No, neither did Legolas I suspect, but I do not think he will be much distressed by it. It is something you would in all likelihood have come to by yourselves in time."

Aragorn stared at the wound on his hand, before looking up at the bandages which covered his friend's body. Without needing to ask, he knew that the wound, although painful, had not absorbed enough of the poison to be overly dangerous if it was tended soon. As he stared at the injury, he asked, "_Ada, _what does it mean?"

Elrond looked down at his own palms. The smooth skin was unmarked, but Aragorn could almost see the faint trace of scars the Elf still remembered.

"It means," he said in a voice so soft that Aragorn had to lean closer to catch the words, "that you and Legolas are bonded as brothers from now….forever."

"But what about when I….?" Aragorn stopped, seeing Elrond flinch slightly, and Aragorn knew his father was pained to be reminded of his Human son's mortality. He turned to the ranger, holding his eyes, "Your bond will last as long as Legolas lives. If he takes ship to Valinor, it will last until the end of all things."

Despite the darkness of the current situation, Aragorn was awed by the thought, comforted by the knowledge that the friendship between himself and Legolas, if the Elf lived, would endure even after he himself had succumbed to mortality, "It is a gift I had not hoped for," he murmured.

"I know, my son, yet it gladdens my heart to know it will be so." 

As the Elf rose to gather his healing materials to tend to Aragorn's wound and neutralise the poison the ranger had inadvertently absorbed from Legolas, Aragorn whispered, his eyes on his friend's pale face, "And mine also."

When Elrond had finished drawing the small amount of poison from Aragorn's wound and tended the cut, he re-bandaged Legolas's injuries. With Aragorn sitting behind Legolas, supporting his shoulders, Elrond poured a healing draft down the Elf's throat. Legolas coughed, trying to twist his head away as he hovered briefly on the edge of consciousness. Aragorn held him steady and mercifully, Legolas lapsed back into unconsciousness as soon as Elrond had deemed that he had swallowed enough of the liquid.

"That should speed the healing process," Elrond said quietly as they laid Legolas down and Aragorn pulled the blankets up to his friend's shoulders, for, despite his unconsciousness, the Elf had begun to shiver. Aragorn looked in concern to Elrond but his father shook his dark head, "It is another aspect of the reaction to the poison," he murmured, eyes on Legolas's shaking body, "It will likely become much worse before he recovers," he warned.

Aragorn nodded and resumed his seat by Legolas's bed. He looked up as Elrond said, "I will at least have a more comfortable chair brought in for you." Father and son smiled at each other for a brief moment and then Elrond silently left the chamber as Aragorn turned back to his friend.

***

In the deep silence of the night, Aragorn watched and prayed, occasionally getting up to pace the room. Twice, Elrond came to check on Legolas and soon after moonrise, Elladan and Elrohir quietly looked round the door.

Aragorn was standing at the window, arms folded across his chest, eyes on the rising silver crescent and although the two Elves made no noise as they entered, he turned as they approached. He summoned a tired smile, but the strain showed. Elladan wordlessly pulled the young Human to him as he had when Aragorn had been a child, murmuring to him as he stroked his brother's tousled dark hair, the Elvish words low and comforting. For a brief moment, Aragorn let his despair take him and he leaned against the older twin's shoulder, feeling Elrohir's arm enclose him also, his brother's cheek coming to rest against his hair.

"Keep heart," the younger twin whispered to him, "Legolas is strong, he can survive this."

Aragorn nodded resolutely and Elrohir marvelled at how strong his young Human brother really was in the face of so much grief and pain. His own heart ached with loss and worry, but he and Elladan had at least known loss before, when their mother left for the Grey Havens, but Aragorn was so young, had been a baby when his parents had died. That he could be so strong now, when one they all thought of as a brother lay so close to death, gave Elrohir a glimpse of the young man's strength and will. Both of which the Elf somehow knew he would need in full measure.

A faint sound from the bed made them all turn. Legolas had moved restlessly and they all caught faint, hoarse words, "_Adar_…I am sorry…please…"

Aragorn's heart twisted at the appeal in the whispered words. Elladan and Elrohir exchanged a glance and Elladan touched Aragorn's arm as the ranger made to move towards the bed.

"If you need us…"

Aragorn looked into his brothers' eyes and smiled a little, "I know_," _he said softly.

After the twins had left, Aragorn settled once more by the bed. Without warning, tiredness swept over him in a huge wave. He fought to stay awake in case Legolas needed him. But the strain of the day past had taken its toll. Exhausted, he laid his head on his bent arm and slowly slipped towards sleep….

***

He woke suddenly, tensing. For a moment he lay still, irritated that he must have fallen asleep and trying to fathom what had woken him. He lay with his head on his left arm; his right was outstretched, hand resting lightly on Legolas's bandaged forearm.

The room was almost dark, the fire and lamps burning very low. All was still and quiet, not even the night birds sang and Aragorn knew it must be that hour before dawn when all the world is wrapped in silence.

Then, in the quiet of the room, he realised that the only breathing he could hear was his own. He could no longer hear Legolas's shallow breaths and he could feel an odd sensation, the bandage under his hand was wet.

Head jerking up, he looked to Legolas and his cry rang loud in the room, echoing down the silent corridors of Imladris. 

The bed was soaked in blood. Legolas's wounds had all reopened, saturating the blankets. In the moonlight, his fair face was deathly pale. But even as Aragorn's shocked mind registered the blood, he saw something else, confirming what his hearing had already told him.

Legolas's chest no longer rose and fell. Aragorn's mind reeled, _No…Ilúvatar, please, oh please no_…

Stumbling backwards, Aragorn held up a hand, as if trying to ward off a blow. He did not register the lightly running footsteps, did not see Elrond, robe hastily belted, run into the room, Elladan and Elrohir on his heels, Glorfindel and Erestor close behind. Others crowded in the doorway.

Forgotten in the chaos, Aragorn huddled in a corner by the fireplace. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he rocked back and forth, keening softly, _Mellon nín……_Darkness rushed up to meet him and Aragorn welcomed it

Then a soft touch brushed across the surface of his mind and he recognised a familiar presence. Behind his closed lids, silver-gold light glowed. 

"_Dúnedan_," Legolas's musical voice held a gentle smile.

Within his mind, Aragorn reached out a trembling hand. "Legolas, please. Do not go _mellon nín."_

"I must," came the reply, filled with quiet regret. Now Aragorn could see his friend's face, clear of pain, smiling gently. Legolas reached out, fingers brushing the young ranger's face, "Be strong, Estel, your time will soon be at hand, and you must face your destiny, for it will be bound up with the fate of all Middle-Earth. Take courage, _Elessar,_ you are ready…" Legolas's image began to fade and Aragorn clutched at the fingers at his jaw, but they slipped from his grasp, and he heard faint words, distant, fading, "_Namárie, mellon nín_…"

Leaning over the bed, Elrond knew he had lost the battle. Legolas's life was passing through his fingers like the waters of the Anduin and he was powerless to stop it. Once before had he been in this position and as he fought to hold on to the dying Elf's life-force, memory, cruel and unrelenting, seized him in its grip….

The battle was over, the evil had been defeated, but at what cost? So many mortal and immortal lives ended, and now Elrond could feel he was losing another. 

The young warrior screamed, back arching, the ends of shattered bones splintering still further under Elrond's sensitive fingers. He gritted his teeth and held on, but his own weariness and sorrow dragged at him.

He tried again, "Thranduil! You must not do this, you must live!"

"No! He is gone! ….I will follow you to death and beyond."

The words echoed endlessly in Elrond's mind. He felt Thranduil's agony, understood that loss which, combined with the horrific injuries the young King had sustained in this final battle, were causing him to death-will himself. Elrond felt Thranduil's shoulder, dislocated and shattered by an orc blade, twist and tear further as he convulsed.

"Gil-galad! The words were a hopeless desperate plea to one already gone. A few minutes more, and it would be too late. Already Elrond could feel life fading, the immortal spirit weakening. The new King of Greenwood the Great was a match in strength for the Lord of Imladris and the crushing pain and despair which fuelled the former's struggle to depart also weighed down and hindered the latter in his struggle to prevent it.

With the last dregs of his strength, Elrond prepared to try one last time to save Thranduil's life. For there would only be one more chance, the Sindarin Elf's skin was already going cool to the touch, his breathing almost non-existent.

But as he prepared to make a last, desperate grab for the other's mind, he felt a new spirit join the struggle. Elrond felt the newcomer's mind as a shower of familiar silver and blue, shot through with glowing emerald. The presence arrowed straight down into the seething maelstrom of Thranduil's despair and grief and Elrond suddenly knew, with stunned realisation, who it was, though physically she was hundreds of miles away.

He watched, holding his own mind as an anchor as Lînivren spun a web of silver threads around her beloved's fading consciousness, calling to him.

"Thranduil, beloved, do not leave me."

It was the only thing which could have reached him. Her words and the web of love she had woven around Thranduil's mind, slowed the descent into death as he seemed to realise her presence and turned to face her. 

Her voice, when she spoke again, was so loving it tugged at Elrond's heart, "Please, melleth nín….."

There was a long pause as Thranduil seemed to weigh the decision. Then, agonisingly slowly, he turned away from the blessed darkness for which he longed, to the one for whom he longed more. He took a faltering step toward her, then another. Lînivren held out mental "hands" to him and he stumbled into her arms.

She held him close as he rested against her, too exhausted and grief-stricken even to weep. Slowly, carefully, Lînivren eased her husband's mind up to where Elrond waited. 

Elrond pulled abruptly free of the memory, returning to the present as he heard a familiar voice echoing through his mind, _"And as we saved my beloved, now we will save the life of my son," _That voice, unlooked for, impossible, made Elrond start so violently his bloodied hands jerked from Legolas's torso.

Within his mind, he shook his head, stunned and disbelieving, _……"Lînivren?"_

But there had been few others in Elrond's many centuries of life as familiar or as dear to him as the beautiful silver- blue presence laced with emerald, and his heart knew the truth even as his mind declared it impossible.

"_Aye…do not ask_!" she warned swiftly as he made to speak. "_As before, we have little time. Do as you did for me once before, mellon nín, anchor me, I will need your strength to bring my son back to us."_

He did as she bid him, holding steady in the surface of Legolas's dying mind as Lînivren reached loving hands out into the darkness, calling to her child.

"_Legolas, my son, come back to us. You are needed, will be needed, more than you know. Yours was not the fault. I love you my child."_

For the space of a few moments, there was no response. Legolas had not been death-willing himself as Thranduil had tried to do after the loss of Gil-galad, he had simply succumbed to the severity of his injuries, the deadly poison coursing through him. How could even Lînivren reverse that?

Then Elrond ceased wondering. It was not possible that she was here at all. She had saved Thranduil through their bond and the strength of her love, but this time……The Valar must have some greater plan for this young warrior and for that reason had allowed Lînivren this chance to save her son.

In the fading darkness of Legolas's mind, Elrond felt him sense his mother's presence. 

"_Naneth?_" Elrond's heart twisted at the tone in the injured Elf's voice.

"Legolas, I am here_,_ come to me now."

"_Naneth," _Legolas repeated, disbelieving. 

Elrond could feel that Legolas's strength was almost gone, but he turned towards the sound of his mother's voice until, in the landscape of his mind, he stood before her. Elrond watched them, one silver-blue and emerald, the other glowing silver-gold. They reached wondering, trembling hands towards each other. Legolas's fingers touched his mother's shining hair and with a cry he collapsed into her arms, "_Naneth, naneth."_

Lînivren held her child as he wept, rocking him, stroking his silken gold hair, singing softly to him. Elrond recognised an Elvish lullaby his wife, Celebrían, had sung to their own children and he suppressed the familiar stab of sorrow, continuing to watch them, holding himself ready to assist. 

After long moments, Lînivren held Legolas a little away from her, looking intently into his face. Brushing stray blond hair from his bruised temple she smiled, " _Legolas, oh my child. Yours was not the fault my son, your father will come to understand that, in time." _She touched the corner of his mouth lightly, "_Do not blame him Legolas, for his greatest fear has now come to pass, that he would lose one of us as he lost Gil-galad. He loved him so much Legolas. It is why he tried so hard to protect us, why he tried to ignore the growing shadow and the return of the evil. But he will need you my son, Middle-Earth will need you and there is another who will also need your love and your strength. He is your brother now, Legolas, and you have a duty of kinship…"_

"_Dúnadan…Estel_…" Legolas murmured.

Lînivren was speaking again, softly, urgently. "_Listen to me, Legolas, for I have little time. You must live my son, you must fight this, live, for all our sakes." _

Elrond's breath caught in his throat at the love shining between the pair as Lînivren gently brushed tears from her son's fine-boned cheeks and kissed his hair, whispering, "_Do not fear for me, I will be well. I love you, you must never forget that…..Namárie, my beloved child…"_

Legolas stared at her, his head up, his own gaze steady now and clear. He raised a hand to touch her face as she did the same to him, lingering in a brief caress, "_Namárie, _I will not forget. I love you also _naneth._"

Lînivren rested her palm over her son's heart for a moment and then she took Legolas into her arms one last time, looking up to where Elrond waited silently. She held his eyes for several moments and Elrond understood what it was she asked of him. He nodded.

Then, with a final look at her son, Lînivren smiled and began to fade. Legolas did not try to call her back, watching quietly with loving eyes as her silver-blue light faded and was gone. Briefly, he bowed his head, and when he lifted it again and turned towards where Elrond waited, his eyes were clear, filled with a luminous light and a new determination to live.

Elrond held out a hand to the young warrior, silently whispering, "_My love to you also, Lînivren. Fair winds, heart-sister_."

And seeming from far away, he heard her answer, "_And_ _to you, brother of my soul……Take care of my son."_

"I will, Lady."

Opening his eyes, hands still on Legolas's torso, Elrond drew a deep breath. Elrohir, closest to his father looked up at him in surprise, "_Ada_?"

"It is over my son," came the quiet words.

Elrohir bowed his head, "I know," he murmured, "Estel already knows, I think. I will find him."

He looked up as Elrond gently grasped his arm, "No, Elrohir, it is over. Legolas is returning to us, look…"

Startled, Elrohir looked to the Elf lying in the bloody mess of blankets and he saw the chest rise a little as his friend drew a deep breath. Elrohir's eyes widened in shock and he looked to his father, uncomprehending, Elrond smiled and repeated, "He will live, my son, he has returned to us."

As they watched, the bleeding gradually slowed and finally stopped and life slowly began to return to Legolas's pale face. Elrohir, stunned, felt his twin settle next to him and ask in a wondering tone, " How can this be, _ada?_ "

Elrond was still smiling, "I will explain it to you later, my sons. For now, know that Lînivren loves her son as I do you and Estel." He watched as the meaning and import of his words dawned on them and they turned incredulous eyes to look at Legolas.

Then Elrond said briskly, " Now, Elladan, go with Erestor and fetch clean blankets. Elrohir, could you and Glorfindel set the water tanks to warm and find Estel, he…."

"He is here, Elrond," Glorfindel's voice interrupted. The Elf-Lord was standing by the fireplace, Aragorn in his arms, unconscious. "He believed I think, as did we all, that Legolas had gone. It overwhelmed him."

Elrond stroked a tender hand over the tangled dark hair of his youngest as Glorfindel brought him forward. 

"Put him in that chair for now," he said, "When the bed is changed, we will make space for Estel. They will wish to be near each other when they wake."

Glorfindel nodded as those in the room went about their appointed tasks. Exhausted by injury and grief, the Elven Prince and his Human friend and brother now slept peacefully .

***

Aragorn came gradually to wakefulness. It was quiet and bright golden light was shining on his face. The air was cool and Aragorn sensed it was early morning. He lay curled on his side, wrapped in soft blankets, his head resting on a soft pillow. 

As he became more wakeful, Aragorn realised he was lying on a bed and that he could hear soft breathing somewhere nearby. A gentle hand was stroking his hair, the movement hypnotic and soothing. Then memory hit him and he curled in on himself, ignoring for a moment the other presence, "_Legolas, oh_ _mellon nín ."_

The hand on his hair stilled and a quiet voice spoke from behind him, "I am here, Estel." 

Aragorn froze. Legolas's voice had sounded real enough. No. Legolas was dead. His mind had simply been trying to comfort him with the familiar voice.

"Estel." Again the voice of his friend called softly to him and Aragorn squeezed his eyes together. _No, leave me, do not torture me so._

The voice behind him spoke once more, and this time, though very weak, it held a note of amusement, "If you do not turn around you stubborn Human, I may be forced to sit up to show you I am here, and I am not entirely sure that I can move."

Aragorn jumped as if he had been stung, simultaneously sitting up and whipping round. Someone had placed Aragorn on top of the covers, swathed in yet more blankets, next to the injured Elf; his father, he suddenly knew. Elrond would have known that the two friends, _now brothers,_ his mind silently added, would be able to assure themselves that the other was well, or at least alive, as soon as they woke.

Doubt suddenly assailed Aragorn and he bit his lip, looking down at the bandage covering his left hand. Despite Elrond's assurances, he wondered in sudden doubt about how Legolas would react to discovering his blood had been mingled with Aragorn's. 

"I heard you calling me….my brother," came the calm voice.

Aragorn's eyes flew to Legolas's face. The Elf was smiling, sorrow and joy mingled on his face, "I know of our bond, Dúnadan. It gave me the strength to hold on a little longer, strength to fight a little longer and then…" Legolas's voice trailed off and he looked up at Aragorn, storm-blue eyes bright with tears, "My mother came, Estel. I was dying, I could feel it, and in my pain I was glad to go. Your father was trying to save me and then I felt her there. She told me it was not my fault and that she loved me." His voice lowered and Aragorn caught the catch of pain as his friend continued, " And she spoke of my father," again the soft voice faltered, "She said he would understand in time and she told me…" Legolas looked away, frowning a little in confusion," that I would be needed. " He looked back up at Aragorn "She said that Middle Earth would need me and that you…would need me."

Aragorn took Legolas's hand where it lay on the coverlet and held it in both his own, "I do need you, my brother. I will always need you. We are your family, Legolas, my father and my brothers, and now we two are bonded by blood as well as by fate. I pledge you my companionship and my love also, Legolas Greenleaf, for as long as I live….._and beyond."_

"As I pledge you mine," Legolas responded. Blue eyes held grey and after long moments, Legolas smiled, "Let us see what the future holds for us, my brother."

Poised at the threshold, behind the door and just out of sight of the two friends, Elrond bowed his head in gratitude and relief and wondering thanks_. Lînivren, _he thought silently to the bright morning, _May you walk the Halls of Mandos in peace, knowing you have wrought here more than any of us can yet tell…_There was no answer, but Elrond's heart knew that she had heard. For a moment he paused, then he entered the room, clean clothing and fresh bandages in his hands.


	3. Chapter 3 Recovery and Rejection

Chapter 3 - Recovery and Rejection 

Deep in the woods of Imladris, Aragorn watched Legolas from beneath the shelter of a tree at the edge of a shade-dappled clearing. The Elf was not aware of the ranger and it was a measure of both his distraction and his total concentration that this was so.

Positioned at one end of the narrow clearing was a thin wand of peeled willow. From his position, closer to it than Legolas, it was barely visible to Aragorn, but he knew that Legolas would be able to discern even the grain of the wood. 

The Elf held his bow loosely in one hand as he studied the target. He was recovering well from his injuries; Elrond had said that they would soon be fully healed, though beneath the supple leather guards covering Legolas's wrists, Aragorn knew that there were still soft white bandages. 

Legolas's eyes narrowed as he fitted an arrow from the quiver at his back. He altered his stance fractionally and then, as naturally as breathing, he relaxed into the shot.

Aragorn held himself still. Legolas with a bow was a study in strength, grace and effortless power. He had once tried to explain, when Aragorn had questioned him about it once, several years ago, how he felt when he was shooting, or fighting with the white knife he carried at his belt. His words had remained with the ranger. 

During the day, the two friends had encountered a roaming party of orcs and had dispatched them with practiced efficiency; Legolas's bow had accounted for eight of the foul creatures. In the evening, as they sat in contented, silent companionship, Aragorn remembered the expression on the Elf's face as his bow had hummed: calm, yet with his eyes darkened to midnight blue, lit with an inner fire.

Aragorn had come to expect that look when battle was inevitable, that carefully controlled spark in the Elf's expressive eyes, which grew until it became the lightning at the centre of the storm. Legolas never actively sought any fight or conflict, but if such became necessary, he held nothing back. Every movement was lethally precise, mind, body and senses in perfect unison, swift and ruthlessly efficient. Aragorn knew that at the heart of battle, Legolas found an affirmation of life, a foil for his own immortality - potentially so easily lost in those moments - which only enhanced the light and life in his friend.

Legolas had been sitting relaxed, head on his arms, which rested on his drawn up knees. At Aragorn's question he looked up. He watched the young ranger searchingly for a few moments before dropping his head again and speaking quietly, watching the fire.

__

"It is like a song in my soul," he said slowly, as though trying to sort the feeling into words adequate enough to express it, "_a rhythm running through all life. It keeps pace with each beat of my heart, each breath I take, dancing through and around me. It is who and what I am and its expression is in my bow and knife as it is equally in a song or the fire of the stars or the stillness of winter. I am my weapons and they are me, no more and no less. We are one and the same for that point in time whether that be a heartbeat or minutes or hours; there is no separation, they are an extension of my heart and soul and I am their point of contact with the world."_

Now, as Legolas held his aim at the slender wand, Aragorn had the luxury of observing the Elven archer. He watched for the familiar, almost imperceptible signs: the bend in the fingers holding the shaft of the arrow; the slight tilt of the head, eyes unblinking and focused on the target, mouth closed, expression unchanging lest it upset his aim; the slender shoulders, pulled taught beneath the green tunic as they held the tension of the bow; the legs flexed slightly, not locked, feet planted lightly but firmly, weight evenly distributed, balance effortless; one arm bent so that the bowstring was drawn back to the same point by the Elf's jaw each time, the other out straight, fingers curling lightly around the exquisitely decorated wood; the utter stillness which marked the last few heartbeats, all held perfectly in balance, waiting. Then the arrow would explode from the bow, smooth and swift as the fingers sprang apart in one controlled movement and the missile would unerringly find the target. Aragorn had never known Legolas to miss.

He waited now, feeling the tension build, holding his breath without being aware he did so….then the moment was shattered as Legolas's hand spasmed and he cried out sharply in pain; the arrow skittered off at an awkward angle into trees at the side of the clearing.

"Legolas!" Aragorn burst from his hiding place, forgetting that Legolas had not been aware of his presence. The Elf turned his head to watch Aragorn approach, flexing his fingers gingerly.

"What is it?" Aragorn asked as he came up to his friend, "What happened?"

The Elf smiled ruefully. "I am impatient. I merely asked more of myself than it seems my body was willing to give." He flexed his fingers again, looking down at them, unknowingly echoing Aragorn's earlier thought, "Elrond says all of the injuries are almost healed…."

"So you thought you would come out here to see for yourself?" Legolas's smile widened. Aragorn knew him far too well. 

The ranger was continuing, "As you did yesterday and the day before and…"

Legolas held up his hands, "I know, Dúnadan, it was foolish, …." He looked up at Aragorn, "But, you are a fine one to be talking about overtaxing injuries. You hate recovering. Elladan was telling me yesterday that last time they practically had to tie you down!"

Aragorn reddened, gesturing to the shade under a vast beech tree. "Come, _mellon nín, _I need to talk to you."

Legolas followed the ranger and seated himself under the branches, noting that the stiffness he had felt over the last few weeks was indeed fading. There would be few more incidents like the one Aragorn had just witnessed.

He looked expectantly at Aragorn as the Human settled himself on the grass beside him. He was surprised to see that Aragorn was staring down at his hands, twirling a blade of grass around his fingers, "Estel?" he prompted.

Aragorn looked up; Legolas saw the reluctance in his eyes, " What is it_?" _he asked quietly. 

Aragorn hesitated a moment longer before saying, as gently as he could, "I came to ask you about the day Lînivren died." Legolas stiffened, but Aragorn continued, "You may be able to conceal it from most, Legolas, but I have seen your eyes when you think no-one is watching. It is burning inside you and I do not wish to see you suffer._"_

Legolas did not reply. He had thought he had hidden it, burying the pain beneath his joy at the bond with Aragorn and in concentrating on recovering from his injuries. Yet it remained.

He had reconciled himself to his mother's death, no longer blaming himself. Lînivren's last loving words to her son had been a balm to his heart when they had parted. He still grieved, but he felt the love of his mother and knew his grief would take its natural course, settling eventually into a loss which, though it would never leave him, would be tempered with the knowledge that her love would also never leave him. 

No. What ate at him until he thought he might run mad, was his father's rejection. Never had Legolas doubted his father's love. For all of Thranduil's somewhat grim reputation, he had loved his son with a fierce pride. From earliest childhood, Legolas had known that he and his mother were to Thranduil the most precious of all the many treasures of his realm. Yet that only made his rejection more painful. Day by day, instead of lessening, the agony grew worse until Legolas began to doubt his own sanity. And so he hid his emotions, trying to convince himself and those around him that he was recovering from that pain as well as from his physical injuries. He should have known that Aragorn would see it and that his friend would not allow him to face it alone. 

When Legolas did not answer, Aragorn touched his arm, persisting, "Legolas? What happened with your father?"

Aragorn sighed when the Elf still did not respond. He had not been truthful when he had said that he had seen the pain in his friend's eyes, but he had been reluctant to push Legolas into talking about it. It had only been when his father had taken him aside after dinner the previous evening that Aragorn had resolved to speak to the Elf.

"I am concerned about Legolas," Elrond had said from the shadows of the Hall of Fire.

Aragorn had looked to where Legolas stood, talking with Elladan and Elrohir, "Why, _ada_? What is wrong? He is grieving, but…"

"…there is something else. He has withdrawn from us. Outwardly, he is as one who is grieving, but he is hiding something and I believe it has to do with Thranduil."

Aragorn frowned, "But what right have we to interfere_?_ If Legolas wishes to tell us, then surely he will, in time. Ought we not to leave it until then?"

"In other circumstances I would agree with you, Estel, but I fear that this may lead to greater tragedy if it remains unsolved." 

Aragorn caught his breath, "What have you seen, _ada?"_

"Naught," Elrond reassured him, "but I sense a recklessness in Legolas that, if left unchecked, may lead him onto dangerous paths. It as though the loss of his father's love…." Elrond stopped, unable to fully explain the strange prickling of his senses whenever he looked into Legolas's eyes.

Fortunately, he did not need to. Aragorn was looking to Legolas with troubled eyes, "I was hoping that I had imagined it, " he said slowly. He looked back at Elrond, "I will speak to him. Mayhap if he can tell me what happened, we can begin to help him."

Elrond held Aragorn's eyes, "Take care, _ion nín_. It will not be easy, if it is possible at all."

"I know, _ada, _but we cannot now ignore this. I will speak with him tomorrow."

***

Now Aragorn waited for Legolas to speak, praying that the Elf would respond, for if he did not….

Eventually, Legolas raised his head. "Why do you wish to know?" he asked abruptly, not looking at Aragorn. 

Aragorn winced inwardly, he had been expecting that question and he did not wish to answer it, did not in truth know _how_ to answer it.

He considered his answer for a few moments before answering carefully, "_Ada _thinks, as do I, that this has affected you in a way none of us could have imagined. That you have become…"

"Mad?" The word was stingingly bitter.

"Reckless," Aragorn corrected, ignoring the Elf's tone. He continued as Legolas gave him a look which held more than a little anger, "It is as if you do not care what happens to you now."

That hit a little too close to the truth. "And how," Legolas's tone dripped with sarcasm, "Did you reach that startling conclusion?"

Aragorn could not help his surprise at Legolas's reaction. It seemed that not only were their suspicions correct, but that the signs which had prompted them pointed to a more serious problem than even Aragorn or Elrond had realised.

"Tell me it is not true."

The simple challenge produced a reaction in Legolas that Aragorn would never have believed possible. He leapt to his feet, staring down at his friend, "I do not answer to you, Dúnadan!" he said angrily.

Aragorn too now came to his feet. "Look at yourself, _mellon nín. _You are angry. Why? I have asked you to tell me of the day Lînivren died because I fear you are holding something back, hiding something which is of importance."

Legolas's eyes blazed and Aragorn took an involuntary step back. Whatever was wrong with Legolas, it was indeed far worse than they had imagined. Never had Legolas behaved in this way. 

But what the Elf said next stunned him far beyond anything that had gone before. The fire in Legolas's eyes was suddenly, utterly extinguished and he looked at Aragorn coldly, "I do not need your help, Human."

For a few moments, Aragorn stared at his friend, unable to believe he had heard him correctly. Then his own anger rose to match Legolas's and he spat sarcastically, "So much for the legendary wisdom of the Eldar. Do not imagine for one moment, Legolas, that I care to hear your tale of self-pity. I merely wished to know why you had been indulging your misery so that your disposition may then improve."

It was a calculated risk. Despite his own anger, Aragorn instinctively knew that this was the only way to get through to his friend, to force him to face this. For one moment, he thought Legolas might strike out. He saw the slender fingers clench and the stiffening of the already rigid shoulders. But Legolas was an Elf and even though he was at the limit of his control, still he would not step beyond it. Aragorn watched as he forced himself under control, using all the force of his training and will to bring the wild anger back from the brink.

They stood in tense silence for long moments, then Legolas spoke, stiffly, "I apologise, Dúnadan. I had not the right to speak to you so." He paused before turning eyes filled with a new cynicism on the ranger, laughing mirthlessly, "And I will tell you what you wish to know. Though," he added in a softer tone, "you may regret that you asked. I know how much you cared for my _naneth _also." 

He resumed his seat and Aragorn, still a little wary, shocked to the core by his friend's reactions, sat next to him. Eyes fixed on the memory, Legolas began to speak…….

………._The slight weight of his mother in his arms, her long hair falling over his sleeve, shimmering at every step of his horse; her beautiful eyes closed, her blood staining the front of his tunic. Trapped in a nightmare, Legolas's mind refused to accept the fact that she was dead. He held her close, trying to keep some warmth in the body that had borne him. He did not grieve, not yet. _

Around him, warriors were silent and stunned. Tathar, riding beside him, kept glancing at his friend and Prince and at the sad burden he carried. It was not just Legolas who had not known their Queen was among them, none of them had. They had left in haste, intent on hunting down the pack of orcs and none had marked another warrior. Once, Tathar made as if to speak, but a single wordless stare from Legolas had silenced him. He had not dared try again.

Reaching the gates, Legolas spoke the words which opened them and the group rode inside. The guards stared at Legolas's burden but he, normally so warm and careless of rank, did not even spare them a glance, taking refuge for the first time in his life in the detached aloofness of royalty.

They reached the inner courtyard and Legolas slid from his horse, refusing for one moment to relinquish his precious burden. He walked along silent, echoing corridors followed by Tathar and the others, neither pausing nor faltering, focusing only on getting his mother to his father's arms where she belonged.

At the entrance to the throne room he did not wait to be announced. Walking past guards whose surprise turned swiftly to grief, he pushed the great doors open with his free hand.

The huge chamber was full of Elves listening to an evening entertainment. The throne next to Thranduil was eloquently empty and the King looked troubled and distracted. At first, he did not look up, but as word spread rapidly through the hall, a stunned silence fell. Thranduil lifted his head, looking to where his son walked through a path which had opened up before him. It was as if all held their breath, unable to comprehend or accept the scene before their eyes. The only movement was Legolas's as he walked slowly up the hall.

For a moment, Thranduil met his son's eyes. Then his gaze fell to the burden Legolas carried……and his world shattered. He sat motionless, disbelieving, as Legolas's slow, inexorable approach continued. 

Finally, Legolas halted before his father's throne. Thranduil could not take his eyes from the slender form of Lînivren, lifeless and limp in her son's arms. Legolas leaned forward, gently placing his precious burden into Thranduil's arms. Thranduil looked down at his wife for a moment and then raised his eyes to his son.

Legolas held his gaze for a moment, his expression shuttered; then he turned on his heel and walked back the way he had come. None dared intercept him.

After he had left, the hall remained silent for the space of six heartbeats, then it erupted into chaos.

***

Legolas heard the door bang back against the wall and turned his gaze on the inner doorway. He was seated in the crook of one of the branches of the great oak outside what had been his sleeping room when he had lived at the palace: one of the few rooms to have a window to the outside. 

As Thranduil came into the room, Legolas calmly and gracefully stepped down from the sill and faced his grief-stricken father and King. There was absolutely no tension in the younger Elf and to Thranduil's shattered mind, he seemed relaxed and distant, almost emotionless. Thranduil did not see the warning signs: the rigidly controlled way that his son moved, the look on his face, devoid of any emotion. 

Legolas was fully aware that his father knew his opinion regarding his mother's skills and her right to use them. He knew too that Thranduil would assume his son had been aware that his mother had joined the hunters and had allowed her to remain. But he did not speak, some instinct, faint but strong, warned him against it. So he made no move to explain, said naught to exonerate himself, holding himself still. Though beyond the ice, his heart was breaking.

Thranduil was at a loss, conflicting emotions rendering him speechless. All he could feel was the need to lash out, to blame, to hurt. Legolas was correct in his thought that Thranduil had not considered the possibility that Legolas had had no idea of his mother's presence.

For long moments, father and son faced each other, Thranduil tried and failed to find the words to demand an explanation of his son, and all the while Legolas watched his father silently.

Eventually, it was that which caused Thranduil to react, that calm unruffled façade. How dare his son look so calm, so unmoved by the events that Thranduil could feel screaming through him, threatening his very reason? And it was his son who was to blame for this. Without considering the consequences of his actions or their cause, reacting only to the searing agony tearing at his heart and soul, Thranduil stepped forward and backhanded his son across the mouth.

Legolas's head snapped to the side and he staggered with the force of the blow, but he swiftly recovered his balance, remaining with his head to one side for the space of a few seconds, his curtain of silken blond hair, loosened from its braids in mourning, covering his face. Thranduil's knuckles throbbed from the force of the blow but as yet he did not feel the pain as he watched his son, breathing hard.

Infinitely slowly, Legolas turned his head until he once again faced his father. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth where the blow had split his lip, but he made no move to touch the bright stream, and his expression was unchanged.

Thranduil waited for a reaction, something, anything, which would give him an excuse to rage at his son, to find a release for this pain. But Legolas only continued to watch his father, a bruise already beginning to darken one side of his face. The same impulse that had warned him against an explanation whispered to him that there was a reason for this, so deep-rooted it had embedded itself in Thranduil's soul.

And suddenly Thranduil realised what he had done. But it was too late. It was done and could never be taken back. For a few more heartbeats, they stared at each other. Then Thranduil dropped his eyes, turning to leave. At the door he hesitated, pausing for a moment to glance back to his son.

Legolas was standing in exactly the same position, staring in front of him. Thranduil's expression hardened and he left the room. Neither Elf had spoken, words had not been necessary. 

A few minutes later Legolas emerged from his rooms. He saw Tathar, but he did not speak and they stared at one another. Then Legolas walked away, down the corridor.

He sought solace that night in the forest and by dawn, he was far from the palace. He had but one thought, one goal. To find the orcs and kill them, whatever the cost. He no longer cared about what happened to him. It no longer mattered.

Aragorn was silent as Legolas finished speaking. He struggled to comprehend the scene Legolas had described to him. Elves never normally behaved towards one another in such a way and certainly not a father who adored his son, despite their differences, as much as Thranduil did Legolas. The loss of his beloved had clearly unhinged Thranduil, driving him to lash out at the one who, along with her, meant more to him than anything or anyone else.

Legolas too, sat motionless and silent. Reliving the memory had torn open the wound his father's rejection had inflicted, one far worse than any the orcs had caused. He felt again the utter desolation it left in its wake, the fact that despite his link to Aragorn, having effectively lost both his parents in the same day had caused damage from which he longed to hide. And he acknowledged that Aragorn had been right; he had wanted to make the agony stop, however that might be achieved. 

He turned to look at the still silent ranger, "Well?" he asked, but without his previous sarcasm, "Does that answer your question?"

Aragorn watched his friend and slowly inclined his head. Something had occurred to him and he sought the right words. "Why was Lînivren there Legolas? Why did she conceal herself?"

Legolas hesitated, "My father never agreed with _naneth _going out with the patrols. He accepted it, reluctantly, but he asked her to promise him something……..."

__

Legolas smiled to himself as he walked down the stone corridor towards his parents' rooms. He and his father had for once managed to make their schedules coincide and were going to take the rare opportunity to go riding. Legolas was hoping his naneth could also be persuaded to come with them. His smile turned into a grin. Not that she would take much persuading, Lînivren was the match for both her husband and her son on horseback.

As he approached the door to his parents' chambers, Legolas heard raised voices came from within. He stopped, surprised; his parents never argued. Caught between concern and the knowledge that he should leave, he stepped back into the shadows where he could see through the partially open door.

"No," Lînivren stated firmly. "I know why you do not like this, Thranduil, but I will continue to go out with the patrols. You have never tried to dissuade me before."

Thranduil, seated in the window seat, turned to look at her. "I have never liked it."

Lînivren paused in her circuit of the room to look at her husband. "I know," she said quietly, " but you have always accepted my right to go. Why do you object now?"

"The danger is increasing," Thranduil replied, standing and crossing the room to his wife. He gently touched her face as she looked up at him, "The spiders grow more numerous and Dol Guldur…"

__

Lînivren studied the beloved features, "It is about Gil-galad is it not? Always when there is any threat to either myself or Legolas, it is the same."

Thranduil turned away, walking back to the window and starring unseeingly out, "I wish only…"

"To keep us safe…," Lînivren said, coming up behind Thranduil, placing her hands on the tense shoulders and kissing the soft fabric. She moved round in front of him, "But Legolas commands the patrols now. Does he know of your concern?"

Thranduil looked away. She had not expected an answer, knew it already. "I have as much right as does he, melleth nín. He is your Heir, I am your Queen. Can you honestly say that I am worth more than he is, either to you or this realm? Nay," she said quickly as he started to speak, "I know well how much you love us both, I have never doubted it." Lînivren paused, and when she spoke again her voice was low, intent, " But I will not let another of my homes fall into darkness and do nothing to help stop it."

"There was nothing you could have done at Doriath!" Thranduil objected, "The sons of Fëanor sought the Nauglamír and Dior….."

"But there is something I can do now," Lînivren interrupted him, "And I will, short of a direct command from you, as the son of Oropher, as King to consort, forbidding me to do so."

It was an unfair tactic, Lînivren knew Thranduil would never try to forbid her to go. She pressed her advantage, "Will you not now tell Legolas of the past? He knows there is something, meleth nín, and he has a right to know ….."

"No!" Thranduil shouted, startling them both. He continued in a lower tone, "Legolas does not need to know. It will serve no purpose for him to know now…"

"Then when?" Lînivren demanded. "Already he is curious, wondering why when he asks of…"

"I will tell Legolas, when the time is right; but we were not discussing that." Thranduil sighed, bringing his hands up to her shoulders. Part of the reason he had fallen in love with Lînivren was her fierce independence and yet now it only served to increase his fears. "At least promise me this. That if we already know, before you go out, that the danger is greater than is usual…."

"… then I will not go," she promised him. She looked up at her husband with the sensuous smile which never failed to heat his blood, before reaching up to kiss him. Thranduil closed his eyes and simply held her, "I love you," he murmured.

"Meleth nín," she whispered.

***

Aragorn's voice was low as he asked, "If she said she would not go…."

Legolas shook his head, "The night we received the report of the orcs, our two best trackers, other than my _naneth, _were injured_. _I know she went to _adar _just before we went out but I assumed she still held to her promise, as it seems, did _adar_. He must not have realised she had slipped out of the palace."

"And although they did not know you heard them discuss it, you knew of their differing views on the subject? It would explain why she concealed herself, "Aragorn said.

"Yes. _Adar _told me once how he hated the fact that she went out at all, though never why, and of her promise. I always assumed he was simply being over-protective. I knew their differing views, as you say, and Naneth would have been reluctant to make me choose between Adar's desires and hers. It was not a position she wished to put me in; hence her concealing herself."

"And she was a tracker," Aragorn added, "adept at concealing herself. Hooded and cloaked, she would have looked and moved as did all the warriors."

Legolas nodded and sighed, "And because she needed to stay away from me, she stayed on the edge of the group. It was why she was so vulnerable when we found the orcs…."

"But what does all this have to do with Gil-galad?" Aragorn asked suddenly. At Legolas's questioning look he said, "You told me your mother mentioned that whenever there was a threat to either her or you your father became over-protective and it sounded to me as if it had something to do with Gil-galad."

Legolas shrugged and frowned, "I do not know. Gil-galad fostered my father. I know little more than that. Whenever I asked, he dismissed the subject. You know my grandfather had no love for the Noldor. I assumed he fostered my father to Gil-galad purely for reasons of Alliance. How he could be connected to my father's over-protectiveness, I cannot say." Yet as he spoke the words, Legolas felt again the whisper in his mind, as he had felt when facing his father in his chamber the day of his mother's death. He shook his head to clear it; he had not the gift of foresight, likely it was some illusion born of grief and pain. And yet……

Silence fell between them once more, but as it lengthened, Legolas gradually became aware of a shift within him, a change which had come with the recounting of the memory, locked within him until now. It was as though reliving the events surrounding his father's rejection had purged the memory as a festering wound was lanced. The wound still remained but it would now heal; it no longer threatened to destroy him. Yet still there were things he needed to know….

He glanced up at Aragorn to find the ranger watching him quietly. Legolas suddenly knew that this had been his intent all along. He put the unanswered questions to the back of his mind. The smile he sent his friend was still laced with pain, but his voice, free of strain, carried light accusation. "You are every inch the cunning Human_." _The use of the term was deliberate, a more genuine apology than the one he had made earlier. He reached out and covered Aragorn's hand with his, _"_ Should you decide to take up the right of your blood, let those who oppose you be wary._"_

They stared at each other, feeling the bond between them, knowing its strength. Then Legolas got to his feet, "Now," he said, picking up his bow, "How about one more attempt before we go back?"

Aragorn opened his mouth to argue, closing it again as he realised Legolas was laughing at him. Grinning, he rose and slung an arm around the Elf's shoulders and they began to make their way back to the house. 

Later though, Aragorn wondered silently if Legolas would ever truly recover from his father's rejection. They had lost Lînivren to death, but Legolas's loss of his father seemed in its way, no less final. Aragorn knew enough of Thranduil to know that the Sindarin King did not forgive easily, even though the one to whom he had apportioned blame for this tragedy was not at fault. Aragorn could only hope that there was something, some force which could make Thranduil realise his mistake….and accept his own part in his wife's death. Yet it seemed a faint hope and Aragorn could not see how it was possible. 

At least he could take comfort in the thought that reliving the memory had tempered Legolas's reckless agony, had halted the rising tide which would have destroyed his friend. 

For now, that would have to be enough.

__


	4. Chapter 4 The Gift

Chapter 4 - The Gift

As dusk fell, Legolas made his way to his chamber, saying, "I would be alone for a time, Estel." Though the memory had been purged, still it cut deep and Legolas had been filled with a weary sadness. Aragorn quietly left him.

The deep, rich gold of sunset flooded the corridor, spilling through the open door to Legolas's room. 

Another glint, brighter than the sunset and mixed with silver, caught the light. His knife lay on the table next to his bed untouched since it had been placed there while he lay close to death. He reached out, hesitating. 

The beautiful weapon had been a gift from his parents but now, it was mute testament to all that had been lost. He stared at it, watching as the glory of the setting sun danced along the blade's shining length, as it had on the evening it had been gifted to him. 

__

He had excelled in all the tests. His training as a warrior was complete. "We are proud of you, ion nín," his father had said, and Legolas saw it in his parents' eyes and smiles. Standing in their chambers, Legolas caught his breath as Thranduil placed the gift traditionally given by the new warrior's parents into his hands.

He drew it from its sheath, dazzled by the pure silver-gold light reflected by the long, slender blade. "It is beautiful," he murmured. Strange; he had never seen this knife before. He thought he had seen all the various weapons his father owned.

He looked up, about to ask where it had come from, but the light in Thranduil's eyes had dimmed, as though a shadow had passed over the King's face; his mother looked troubled. Legolas bit back the question, returning his attention to the knife he held, running wondering fingers over it.

Looking up, he bowed to his parents, the knife held in both hands raised before him. As Prince to King, he said, "In your service, hir nín."

Thranduil nodded gravely. Then he grinned, pulling Legolas into a tight hug. Legolas laid his head on his father's shoulder, feeling his mother's arms enclose him also, smelling her familiar, sweet scent. Wrapped in his parents' embrace, Legolas closed his eyes. His father murmured, "You deserve a weapon to match your skill, ion nín." 

His skill. Legolas's mouth twisted, but he pushed the feeling back. Irritated with his hesitation, he picked the knife up. It glowed in the fading light, its keen edge seeming to part the very air. Or Orc flesh. In memory, Legolas saw again the blood, black and viscous, clinging to the blade.

__

Four weeks out of Mirkwood, in a pass of the Misty Mountains, he had caught up with the last of them. This hollow in the shoulder of the mountain was enclosed on three sides by steep cliffs, rising sheer and jagged from the stony ground, disappearing into the gloom. The only access was a narrow opening in the cliff walls, which the Orcs guarded carefully.

From his concealment on a narrow ledge high on one of the cliff walls, Legolas looked down and smiled mirthlessly. The only access that was, except for a steep jagged ridge which few but an Elf could traverse. 

He watched the evil creatures move about their camp. In the gathering dusk, their harsh voices echoed and re-echoed in the Elf's head, bouncing off the cliff walls. Despite his hatred of them, he was calm, focused. They would die, as the rest had died. Then his vow would be fulfilled. 

There was a good chance that he would not survive this encounter yet he felt little regret. 

For now though he needed to plan his attack They were wary, this last group. Oh yes, they were wary. As they had travelled , the Orcs had become aware that something was wrong. At first, only a few were disappearing. Their captain thought that the disloyal creatures had deserted the group in favour of some evil mischief of their own, but their numbers had kept dwindling. One night, as yet another patrol was late, the captain led a group into the trees. 

In a small clearing, they came across the five Orcs of the patrol. They were dead. The captain, a veteran of many encounters, ran an experienced eye over the bodies. Whatever had killed them knew what it was doing; the Orcs were well armed and experienced, yet it was clear they had died without any of them having the time to draw a weapon.

Then the eyes of the captain narrowed . In the dark under the trees, the slender shafts protruding from the bodies were almost invisible, but the fading light did not hamper Orcs. The captain walked over to one of the bodies, pulling the arrow roughly from the dead creature. It snapped, leaving the tip behind, but the captain did not need to see the tip; it was clear from the skill with which the shaft had been crafted and from the fletchings what creature had killed these Orcs.

The black-skinned face lifted, flattened nose scenting the air. It smelt nothing. Their enemy was too clever for that and had either gone, to strike another day, or….Cursing its own stupidity, the captain motioned for the group to fall back. But it was too late.

The captain had not returned to give warning, nor had any of the others. From that night on, the Orcs realised they were being hunted by some unseen foe. It picked off stragglers; it ambushed them as they went for water; it harassed and pursued them relentlessly. And their numbers dwindled.

Now, the last of them huddled by the fire in the crude, hastily erected camp. They shifted constantly, black eyes scanning the entrance to the hollow and the cliff walls. Legolas laughed silently.

He thought of Aragorn. This pass of the Misty Mountains was but half a day from Imladris. Fleetingly, he wished for the presence of his friend, knowing also that he needed the ranger's help. 

In the last encounter, he had planned as ever to pick the Orcs off. But a deer, grazing near the Elf's position had been startled by the Orcs' presence and had broken cover, forcing Legolas to throw himself backwards to avoid the flying hooves. Turning, one of the Orcs had spotted the Elf and suddenly Legolas was facing six opponents with no room to use his bow.

Three had fallen to his knife when one, with a last effort, one managed to reach out and snare his boot. Legolas had quickly snatched his foot from the Orc's grasp turning to administer a fatal kick to the creature's temple, but it gave the others an opening.

By the time the Orcs were dead, Legolas was bleeding from several wounds; his wrist was excruciatingly painful and he suspected it was broken. That night, he bound it up and tried to draw his bow. The pain made him dizzy. His knife was now his only weapon.

Legolas shook his head; Aragorn was not here. He may not yet even know what had happened in Mirkwood. Thranduil would be too sunk in grief and despair to answer any message and Legolas wondered if Tathar or his father would have sent word.

The Elf looked down once more to the six Orcs below him, judging the point at which the uncertain light of dusk would be most confusing…. 

His feet took the first Orc between the shoulder blades, sending it sprawling forward into a second. The three seated at the fire shouted as it stumbled into the fire, scattering sparks and swirling smoke. 

Legolas was already in motion. Landing lightly, he jumped, catching one of the two still standing under the chin with his foot. Its head jerked back; he heard its neck snap as with his right hand he slashed his knife across the throat of the Orc closest to him. It too died instantly.

The others had sorted themselves out, though it appeared the one that had stumbled into the fire had been badly burnt and it staggered about, bellowing in pain. The sickly stench of singed flesh filled the air. Legolas landed once more and spun to meet the first of the remaining four.

They were hampered by the fact that Legolas had landed intentionally near to one of the hollow's rough corners so they could not circle behind him. Still, they moved to flank him. Two of them came at him at once and Legolas ducked under the scimitar of one. He knew the others were close and tried to keep them in sight as he surged forward under the Orc's arm, intending to disembowel the creature.

But one of the Orcs had seen that the Elf held his wrist stiffly. Grinning, it reached out, not to strike at the Elf but to grab hold of the wrist. Legolas saw the movement as he ducked and almost managed to pull his arm out of the way. The Orc caught his sleeve for a brief second, but it was enough.

Pain shot up Legolas's arm and he was pulled momentarily off balance, but he continued the upward thrust of his knife. The Orc grunted as the knife entered its belly. It fell away and the space it left was filled by another Orc.

Distracted by the sudden agony, Legolas struggled to parry as the Orc that had grabbed him lunged. He felt slicing pain across his thigh and staggered back, bringing his knife up to meet the thrust of the Orc on his other side. He was only partially successful; the black blade laid his wrist open to the bone.

The Orcs closed in; the injured one remaining a little back, armed, but letting its fellows kill the hated Elf.

They had manoeuvred further into the open and the three Orcs now attacked simultaneously. Judging the one on his left to be further away, at the edge of his scimitar's range, Legolas threw his hips sideways. Reversing the movement, he spun between the other two. Expecting their enemy to retreat, they had not anticipated the forward movement and for a moment, as Legolas had hoped, they were slow to respond.

It gave Legolas the brief time he needed. As he passed the closest Orc, he stabbed his blade into its chest. It grunted in surprise and dropped its weapon to clutch at the wound. Legolas turned to face the remaining two Orcs as the injured one now came forward.

But even as he turned, gutting one of the remaining Orcs as he did so, he felt another cut, across his ribs. He tried to pull away, but the cliff was too close; his only choice was to rush one of his opponents. He chose the injured Orc, who was also the smaller of the two, but the creature, whether by luck or design brought its weapon up at just the right moment to meet the Elf's unexpected attack. Legolas continued forward, but the Orc stumbled backwards. By the time the creature fell, lung fatally pierced, Legolas felt the other Orc closing in once again. 

This time its blade caught his upper arm and chest. Legolas pivoted, but the Orc was on his injured side and in the space he had, he could not bring his blade to bear. Instead, he slammed the creature bodily into the rock wall. Its breath left its lungs in a rush and it grabbed at Legolas. The Elf pulled free and elbowed the creature in the face. He felt the crunch of bone as he broke the creature's jaw and he stepped back, finally able to bring his weapon across the Orc's throat as it struggled to fill its lungs with air. It gurgled wetly and clawed at him as it died.

Then Legolas caught movement to his left. Instinctively, he threw himself backwards as stinging pain ran across his side and injured arm. He tried to turn but something hit him hard and it was his turn to be slammed into the unyielding rock of the cliff wall. He struggled to breathe, feeling a new agony in his right shoulder. 

The Orc he had stabbed in the chest had not died immediately and though the knowledge of its own death was in the creature's black eyes, it held the hated Elf fast against the cliff wall. It held a crude knife and Legolas twisted, trying to free himself. In this position, the Orc, biggest of the group, could kill him at leisure. He steeled himself against the searing waves of pain in shoulder and wrist, hoping that his injured leg would hold him. Bracing his back against the cliff , he pushed his entire weight against that of the Orc. As he did so, he felt more cuts to his chest and across his abdomen and as he succeeded in shoving the Orc off him, he felt another to his arm. The creature staggered back several steps and Legolas quickly slipped past it, placing himself in the centre of the hollow, away from the cliff wall.

He was now effectively unarmed; he could not raise his right arm, rendering the knife he still held useless. Knowing this, the Orc laughed at him. It would die, but not before taking the Elf with it. Legolas looked round. It seemed hopeless, but somehow, unaffected by grief or hopelessness his warrior instinct saw its chance.

Slightly behind the Elf and several yards to his left, a jagged shard of rock jutted from the cliff wall. It angled upwards to about the length of Legolas's knife. He turned slightly and backed away, hiding the Orc's view of the rock with his body. The Orc, tiring of sneering at the Elf and feeling its strength begin to fade, snarled and charged forward. Legolas waited until the last possible second and then threw himself to the side. The Orc, seeing its peril, was unable to stop its forward momentum. The rock entered just below its breastbone.

But in its rush, it had tried to decapitate Legolas. He twisted away, but his leg gave way beneath him and, unable to catch himself, he hit the floor hard, falling awkwardly across a jagged boulder. More pain and the accompanying loud crack was enough to tell the Elf it too was broken.

Panting, Legolas lay near the cliff. The pain was overwhelming and he felt unconsciousness reaching out to enfold him. He tried to get up, to assure himself the Orcs were all dead., but the movement made points of light flash before his eyes. He shook his head to clear it and saw with fading vision, that the bodies in the hollow were all still. Fighting growing weakness, he tried to pull himself up. But the darkness reached out, dragging him down, and he fell back.

*** 

He regained consciousness as the sun shone full on his face. He was still lying in the lee of the cliff. The Orcs lay a short distance away, the sandy floor of the hollow sticky with their blood. 

He looked up, judging from the position of the sun that it was long past dawn. His head swam dizzily as he reached out to the rock wall to pull himself up.

Legolas couldn't help crying out as waves of agony crashed through him, making him faint and nauseous. He fell back, looking down. He was bleeding, though he was uncertain how badly. He could feel also that his shoulder was dislocated and his left leg would not support his weight, the right not much better. 

He needed to find help quickly. From the numbness which was beginning to overcome the pain, he realised he had another problem. The Orcs had poisoned their blades. 

According to Elrond, the poisons Orcs used were difficult to produce and only used in extreme circumstance. Clearly, he had been considered an extreme circumstance. A ghost of a smile flitted across Legolas's pale lips, but the smile held no real amusement; Legolas knew he was in serious trouble. 

The poison would be one of two the Orcs used. One prevented wounds from closing; the other, even more evil and deadly, slowly increased the severity of the bleeding as it worked its way deeper until the victim either died from loss of blood or the poison reached the heart. Legolas did not wish to consider either possibility.

For a moment he lay back, defeated. He had fulfilled his vow; he could let go. 

Then a thought surfaced in his tired mind pushing aside the lassitude creeping through him. Aragorn. He needed to see Aragorn. Slowly, almost fainting from the pain, he dragged himself up, relief flooding through him when he saw his horse grazing nearby.

It took many minutes and all of the well bred stallion's training, for Legolas to drag himself onto the animal's back. He turned the horse in the direction Imladris lay, clinging to his mount's mane. He did not realise he still held his knife, black with Orc blood, in a hand covered with his own. 

***

__

Legolas… Night had fallen as he stood with the white knife in his hands, lost in memories. He looked round, but there was no one in the doorway. 

Frowning, he laid the knife on the bad and moved to light the lamps. As the light flared, he heard it again.

__

Legolas….

He turned, senses alert. A glance out of the window revealed no-one in the gardens or by any of the flowing streams. As he frowned in puzzlement it came a third time.

It could not be. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Legolas cautiously picked up the knife…and almost dropped it again. The weapon was humming, a low, resonating sound which shivered through the length of the blade. Incredulous, Legolas stared at it. 

__

Legolas….Again came the soft voice, and by now he was sure it was the blade which called to him.

__

What is it you want of me?

There was a pause, …_Brother…_

Legolas shook his head, not understanding.

__

Brother…..

Whose brother? Legolas silently questioned.

Silence…_Yours…and mine._

Aragorn? Who was the other?

"I do not understand," Legolas said aloud.

He looked up. Elrond stood in the doorway. For a moment, the eyes of the other Elf dropped to the knife Legolas held. Then he came forward into the room, seating himself beside the younger Elf.

"It is time now to speak of this…." he said softly, fingers gently touching the hilt of the knife, "and of other things, long unsaid." 

"I, the blade… it spoke…."

He was taken aback when Elrond nodded, unsurprised. "It has done so before. To give me permission to separate it from its twin."

__

"Its twin?"

Again the nod, and Elrond looked at Legolas, "This blade is part of a pair. They have long been in my family and once, I gave one of them to your father as token of our brotherhood."

"And the other?" Legolas was unsure which revelation to react to first.

Elrond was silent for so long, Legolas thought he would not answer, but then he said, " The other I gave to the most noble of our kind I have ever known. He also was _gwador _to me, but he is long dead. There is one of whom your father would never speak, even when you asked, is there not?" 

Legolas did not answer. Elrond's eyes dropped once more to the white knife. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible, "The twin to this blade I gave to my friend and King."

"Gil-galad," Legolas murmured.

"Out of love and respect for your father, I have remained silent. There are many reasons why Thranduil would not speak of Ereinion Gil-galad. You must now hear them."

Legolas sat silently, staring down at the knife in his hands. Then he stood, and followed Elrond from the chamber.


	5. Chapter 5 Vows Not Lightly Made

Chapter 5 - Vows Not Lightly Made

In Elrond's study, Aragorn was sitting in his habitual place on the hearth stone. He rose when they entered, coming forward to look into Legolas's face. Elrond quietly withdrew, murmuring that he would fetch some wine. 

Seeing Aragorn's expression, Legolas said reassuringly, "I am well, _mellon nín_, rest easy. I needed only a little time to gather my thoughts." Aragorn, though he had understood Legolas's reasons for wishing to be alone, nevertheless relaxed at his friend's reassurance. 

He was startled when Legolas said in a deliberately melodramatic tone, "And, I was consumed with the terrible humiliation that you caught me in a moment of," he coughed, "inaccuracy!" 

Aragorn's laughter joined Legolas's. "How many times do you miss? I will use it to keep you in your place when you become too arrogant, Elf!" he retorted.

Legolas narrowed his eyes, "If you tell a soul, you feckless Human, the next time I practice, the target will be moving!"

They turned as Elrond approached, one eyebrow raised. Quietly, he said, "Though I am glad to hear your laughter, I did not summon you here for such. I would ask that you both sit and be silent, for there is much to say," They both heard the unspoken, _And by its end, I doubt you will be much inclined to laughter._

Both Legolas and Aragorn sensed the emotion beneath Elrond's words. It felt like anger. Aragorn for his part, had rarely seen his father so distressed, and realised that its cause must be grave indeed. Whatever it was Elrond had to tell them had caused the Elf-Lord much pain. Chastened, they took their seats before the fire.

They saw that Elrond held a carved wooden box and a tooled leather harness. Legolas noted that the decoration matched that on his knife.

Elrond poured wine before taking his own seat. He stared into the deep-red depths of his glass, looking back across the centuries. Finally, he sighed, raising his head, eyes filled with memory. Legolas sat up in his chair as Elrond's eyes sought his, curiosity warring with trepidation. 

"Most of what I am about to tell you, few now know, or ever knew. I have asked Estel to be here because this concerns him also in that in part it is a tale of old hurts between Elves and Men; hurts which affect the present and, I fear, the future." At Legolas's nod he continued, "Much of it I gleaned from Thranduil's mind on the occasions I healed him after the final battle fought by the Last Alliance, as is often the case with healing of such depth. Some of it he likely would not wish others to know, and I do not betray that lightly. Yet it is important that you understand. The rest, I was witness to."

__

In a window seat of one of the private family chambers, an Elf sat with his back against the tapestry-covered wall looking out over the formal gardens. Though darkness had settled gently over Lindon many hours ago, and it was nearing midnight, Thranduil could still see the land mapped out in his mind's eye, the land which comprised now the only surviving portion of Beleriand.

In the time since he had come here, Thranduil's world had changed utterly. He thought of his father, Oropher. There was love between them, as father to son, but it had never been an easy relationship and they had often been at odds. With Gil-galad, Thranduil found that he was loved without condition or judgment. He had responded by learning eagerly everything the Noldor and his household had to teach: Of the running of a Kingdom in both peace and war; of diplomacy and negotiation; of the command of armies; horsemanship; music; history; lore and more else than he cared to enumerate.

Yet it had been his weapons practice to which Thranduil had gone most eagerly. For these Gil-galad saw to himself, making time amongst the many demands on his energies and attention, to instruct Thranduil in the use of sword, knife, spear and bow. 

Often, they would train in the sand-covered training yard amid other Elves or alone under the watchful eye of Elrond, or on occasion, Círdan. Thranduil had proved a gifted and willing pupil; few now in Lindon could outmatch him. 

But the times Thranduil treasured most were when he and Gil-galad took horses and rode into the foothills of the Ered Luin, to make camp in the wooded glades, sparring under the starlight, each simply enjoying the company of the other.

There were others here also whom he had come to love, in particular the High-King's Herald, Elrond Peredhel, with whom Thranduil studied history and lore. The two had formed a close friendship, bordering on brotherhood. 

"You are awake late as usual, mellon nín." A quiet voice recalled Thranduil from his thoughts and he looked up, towards one of the arched entrances at the far end of the large room.

As if Thranduil's thoughts had summoned him, Elrond entered, dressed for riding. 

Thranduil unfolded himself from the window seat and came forward to greet his friend. The two Elves embraced and as they drew apart, Thranduil said, "As are you Peredhel. You must have ridden hard to return tonight. Is all well with Círdan?"

Elrond nodded, turning to a nearby table. He poured wine into two silver goblets, handing one to Thranduil. He seated himself in the window seat the other had just vacated. Thranduil sat opposite, folding his knees up and resting his arms across them, fingers wrapped around the stem of his goblet.

Elrond sat, eyes closed, head tilted back against the tapestry covered wall of the embrasure. He was unsurprised that he had found Thranduil here, had counted on it in fact, for what he had in mind. The Prince often sought solitude when the rest of the household had retired. He thought of how the Prince had changed since he had come to Lindon.

Thranduil had found the father's love he had always sought in Gil-galad and the love of a brother in Elrond. In recent centuries, this security had seen him develop into a skilled and innovative leader. Yet when Thranduil was worried about those he loved, the insecurity born of a difficult relationship with his father, was wont to resurface. Wary, sometimes even mistrustful, Thranduil's affection and loyalty were not easily won. Once given though, they were wholehearted and fiercely defended.

Elrond could feel Thranduil watching him. He knew the weariness he felt showed on his face. Opening his eyes, he smiled warmly at the other Elf, "I assure you, meldir, all is well." 

More than well, he thought. In going to Mithlond with Gil-galad's message, Elrond had also had a purpose of his own, though at first he had not realised it. 

As Thranduil relaxed, Elrond closed his eyes once more, hearing again the conversation he had had with Círdan.

***

Elrond had come up to the highest point of the city. From his position, seated in the lee of one of the towers, he could see out over the dark waters of the Gulf of Lhûn. His eyes were drawn as always to his father's light, bright in the clear night. His gaze moved on towards the foothills of the Ered Luin and beyond it, mind on the two who had occupied his thoughts so much in these past months.

He turned his head as he caught a gleam of silver at the edge of his vision. Círdan did not speak, or even glance at the seated Elf, merely leaning his arms on the wall before the tower and looking out as Elrond had done across the Gulf.

For a while, they did not speak. Elrond realised that Círdan, perceptive as always, had noticed his mood and had come to discover its cause. He watched as the wind off the sea eddied about the Lord of the Falathrim, lifting the silver strands of Círdan's hair, recognising him for a friend. Elrond wondered what it was the sea winds whispered to him. He too wished for its counsel.

Círdan did not turn and Elrond sighed in frustration. Ever had it been thus. Since Elrond's childhood, when he and Elros had come to Círdan's household, the shipwright had been possessed of an unending patience. Elrond suspected it came from watching the sea in its endless, ever-changing moods. At times it irritated him; now was one of those times.

Still without turning, Círdan chuckled, the quiet sound reaching Elrond in the still night. Elrond stood and went to the wall, leaning on it next to the older Elf. Círdan still gazed out over the water, expression enigmatic as ever.

Elrond shook his head. He hadn't realised he had needed to talk about this as Círdan apparently had. 

"You are remembering your brother," came the murmured words, hardly louder than the breeze.

" I feel close to him here," Elrond responded.

"And you wonder now what he would think of your wish to undergo the brother-oath with Ereinion and Thranduil." He turned now to look fully at Elrond. "Do you really need to ask, neth Peredhel?"

Young Half-Elf. Elrond did not feel young. He felt old, old and yet still unsure if he was betraying his brother's memory in wishing to swear the oath of brotherhood with two who had become as family to him. The oath was rare. Rarely did any who knew of it, Elf or Dúnadan, bind their blood with that of another in the ancient ritual. Friendship and existing kin were usually enough. 

But Elrond no longer had any whom he could call close kin and he wished to set the seal on the kinship he had formed with Gil-galad and Thranduil. This time, friendship did not seem enough and his heart called for the commitment the brother-oath would bring, making them family as surely as if they had been born so.

But there was more to the oath than that, and another reason it was so rare. For in swearing the oath and allowing blood to meld, those who so swore also linked their souls; so that if one died, the fëa of that one, while travelling to the Halls of Mandos, would leave an imprint on the soul of the one who was left behind; a link however tenuous, to the one who had departed. And while it could bring comfort, also did it bring much pain, a reminder that while the link could still be felt, still to some extent be touched, never would the one who had been lost be truly present until the ending of Arda. Fleeting feelings, whispered thoughts would be left, tenuous and half felt. Most Elves did not wish the added grief such a lingering link brought, for in it also there was an increased risk that the one bereft would choose to follow the one who had been lost to Mandos's Halls and in these times, there were already too many losses.

It was a risk, the oath of brotherhood, a chance that death, if it came, could bring the most rare and fleeting comfort and the most exquisite pain. It was a risk Elrond was willing to take. For a King and friend who was also alone and a young Elf whose kind did not often even trust those of the same blood as Elrond. Elrond had not thought to feel again the closeness of brotherhood. He had no wish to replace Elros, but he knew his brother would understand the impulse which now moved his twin. In his mind's eye, he saw Elros smile.

With an indrawn breath, Elrond turned to face Círdan, to find the Lord of the Falathrim watching him, waiting. Elrond nodded, feeling a weight lift at the making of his decision.

***

Elrond opened his eyes as the memory faded. He had become aware of another presence at the entrance to the hall and both he and Thranduil turned to look.

In the doorway stood another Elf; his tall, elegant form, beautiful even among the Eldar, framed by the softly lit ante-chamber behind him. He was dressed informally, in soft grey leggings and a thigh-length tunic of midnight-blue, sewn with silver stars. The only indication of his rank was a intricately wrought circlet of mithril and gold which contained the straight fall of his long, dark hair. 

But there was no mistaking who this Elf was. About him there was an aura of power, deftly wielded; coupled with infinite patience, uncanny perception, and a gaze which contained the full force of a will few could withstand. The delicate lines and angles of his face held an unearthly beauty and strength and his expression, when he so chose, gave away little. 

And there was about him a sense of 'otherness', subtle almost intangible, it set him apart.

Yet as he came forward, it was his warm smile of greeting they saw. That and the fact that, as was most often the case in more relaxed moments, he was barefoot.

Elrond cast a long-suffering glance at the ceiling, "My Lord Gil-galad, how do you expect to engender the proper respect in your household and warriors if you cannot even remember to wear shoes?"

Thranduil, who had heard this exchange many times before, ducked his head to hide a smile, even as the object of Elrond's censure approached them, grinning unrepentantly.

"Ah, but I leave it to you, my Herald, to point out my lack of ability to dress myself."

Elrond sighed dramatically, "It was ever my lot to prevent you from dropping Aeglos and falling over your own feet. It is a wonder you do not forget where you have placed your crown!" He rose and met his King in a laughing embrace.

They stepped back and Elrond resumed his seat. Gil-galad turned to Thranduil, who had stood, "Mae govannen, my son," he smiled.. 

Elrond considered the two before him. Despite the difference in their colouring, at times, he had to remind himself they were not father and son by blood. It was a difficulty most who saw them together had also. He doubted it would please Oropher if he knew.

The King poured himself a goblet of wine and as he did so, the other two moved in familiar, unspoken agreement. Thranduil seated himself cross-legged on the hearth rug; Elrond dropped bonelessly into one of the padded chairs before the fire.

Gil-galad turned, "And you chide me for my lack of formal attire! Look at you, my Herald, commander of my warriors, folded gracelessly into a chair…"

Elrond slanted a glance up and back at his King, thinking anew that what endeared Gil-galad most to his people was his ready smile and his oddly irreverent sense of humour. That and the uncanny ability to make all those who served him feel as though their doings and concerns were of importance to him. "Ah, but at least I wear my shoes…"

Gil-galad made a derisive sound and similarly dropped into another chair across the fire, moving as ever with the elegance of a cat. Elrond smiled and, gave him the shipwright's reply to Gil-galad's message. 

When he had finished, Gil-galad nodded and was silent for a few moments. Then he looked at his friend, one brow raised in query. "Now," he said, "You did not summon me here at this unearthly hour knowing also Thranduil's penchant for night-time thinking, to give me a report on the new ships. What is it you wished to speak to us about, muindor?"

Brother. Elrond smiled briefly and then grew serious. He reached down to his pack near the window seat. His expression had gone suddenly serious and the other two, sensing his mood, allowed their amusement to fade.

In Elrond's hand, in white scabbards, their hilts of pale wood inlaid with gold, were two knives. "These were crafted for my brother and me, a gift from our father. They are a pair, closely bonded, and I…." He hesitated, his usual eloquence deserting him and then he looked up, coming to his feet slowly.

"My lord Gil-galad, my friend and King and my Lord Thranduil, heir to the Woodland Realm, I would pledge oath of brotherhood with you, that our blood and souls are linked unto the ending of Arda."

The other two were stunned. Yet as he spoke the words, a feeling of rightness came to them, as if a hitherto unrealised part of themselves had made itself known. They stood, coming forward to stand with the dark-haired Herald.

It was a simple ritual, an affirmation rather than a pledge, utterly sacred. Elrond drew both knives, laying them on the table. With one he drew a line across the fleshy base of his palm so that a thin stream of blood appeared on the smooth skin. Turning to Gil-galad who held up his left hand, he drew a similar line across the King's palm. The two Elves then held their palms together," Blood and soul be bonded. May the Valar witness as I take you now as my oath-brother."

For a moment, the two Elves stood silently. Then Elrond wiped the blade, sheathed it, and placed it in Gil-galad's hands.

He turned to Thranduil, drawing the other knife and repeating the formal gesture and words before placing the sheathed weapon in the Prince's hands. 

Elrond bowed his head. They returned the gesture. The pledge had been made and witnessed by the Valar, it could not now be broken. Elrond felt it settle into place within his fëa, watching the faces of the other two as they felt the same subtle shift in perception, the gentle touch of the other's mind. It was complete.

Elrond stopped speaking and looked up. His fingers were curled into his palms, lightly touching the places where the cuts had been made so long ago. 

Aragorn and Legolas were silent, awed and touched by what they had heard. Though both knew that Elrond had been the High King's Herald, they had not known the true depth of love and friendship between the three Elves.

Legolas was silent a moment, trying to absorb the enormity of what he had heard. He looked down at the blade he held with new awe, envisioning again the scene Elrond had just described. "I did not know. But…." he hesitated, raising his head to look in confusion at Elrond, "There are things I do not understand. To my knowledge, my father has never spoken of your bond. Why?"

Elrond's expression was filled with sorrow and regret. " My tale is not yet finished. By its end you will understand. And you will come to see why your father reacted as he did to your mother's death. Yet there is one more thing you must know before I continue. A short time after I had sworn brother-oath with your father and Gil-galad, they came to me as I knew they would," Elrond looked into the fire, "They swore the oath as father and son."

Legolas caught his breath. "But…"

Elrond did not take his eyes from the fire, "In all honour, Gil-galad wished to explain to Oropher, in the hope that he would understand why the oath had been made, but Thranduil vehemently opposed it and so Oropher never knew. It is testament to the lack in his relationship with his son that he never sensed it."

Legolas, though still a little stunned, nodded.

Elrond's gaze went to Aragorn whose dark hair partially veiled the thoughtful expression on his young face, "And now I must tell you of the final days of the Last Alliance. You, Estel, will understand much of the significance of what I tell you now."

Aragorn looked up, grey eyes serious, as if he prepared himself to hear something he dreaded, "Go on, _ada,_ though I fear this will not be easy to hear."

"It will not," Elrond agreed, "But hear it you must, both of you, for I feel it will yet have an effect in the world, and sooner than any of us may realise."


End file.
